


The Wondering Musicians

by the_hyrule_shinigami



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Underage Smoking, really bad attempts at putting in contempory slang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_hyrule_shinigami/pseuds/the_hyrule_shinigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of Prohibition America, everyone has to pick a side eventually.</p><p>A 1920s Bleach AU with a heavy focus on gangster culture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Business

**17th June 1921:-**

 

The late-afternoon sun peaked through the uninspiring cement blocks that made up the city hospital, lighting up one side of the dreary courtyard- the place’s excuse for a garden. Patches of slightly yellowed grass stuck up in random places beneath the cracked paving stones, and small shrubs grew around the outside. In one dark corner stood a bored looking doctor. A breeze brushed gently through icy white hair, and carried cigarette smoke, swirling, into the cloudless sky. A deep sigh, and the cigarette was discarded haphazardly into a nearby bush. Its owner removed his spectacles, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He exhaled slowly, leaning against one of the black drainpipes that snaked all around the structure. _It’s too damn bright,_ he grimaced, blinking a few times before replacing the spectacles on his nose. _When did summertime get this bright?_

“Hey! Doc!”

A shout came from across the courtyard, and a man with scruffy black hair and an unshaven face emerged from an archway opposite. He was wearing a brown suit jacket that looked to be a size or two too large, and both of the knees of his mismatching pants had patches sewn over them. He grinned roguishly when he saw he’d been noticed. “S’been a long time!”

The bespectacled man’s deep blue eyes widened in panic. “ _Isshin…_ ” he hissed, striding over to the man and yanking him back under the cover of an archway. He checked over each shoulder for a good few moments before turning back to the grinning man in front of him. “Would you care to inform me why you’ve risked visiting me here?”

Isshin chuckled slightly, “What, I need a reason to see an old friend?”

The paler man was not laughing. “Do you have any idea,” he said in a low, cold voice, “Exactly what the consequences for me would be if a Kuchiki caught me speaking to you?”

Isshin gave an overly dramatic look of offence. “We ain’t seen each other in so long… And all you wanna talk about is petty local feuds…”

The doctor sighed, irritated. “Local feuds that are paying my bills? Listen Isshin, you know why I can’t be seen talking to you.”

“Yeah, yeah… Kuchikis ain’t my biggest fans I know… But seriously, Ryuuken-” He paused, and a more somber expression crossed his face, “How long can they keep this up?”

Ryuuken merely shrugged. “They’ve been at it for generations. I like to think I’m in a fairly permanent business for the time being. It’d probably be more appropriate to call ‘em vendettas than feuds.”

“Saving lives ain’t your thing anymore?”

“Gotta get ‘em ossified enough to get bust-up first.”

Isshin laughed out, prompting Ryuuken to slam a hand over his mouth. Isshin raised his arms in surrender. “Alright! Jeez…” He said more quietly, pushing Ryuuken’s hand away. “Look, I know I can’t be here. I know alright? And I’m sorry, Doc, I am. But I gotta favour to ask.”

Ryuuken’s face fell and he groaned. _I shoulda figured…_ But the blankness in his friend’s eyes stopped him mid-thought.

“It- It’s my youngest. The twins.” Isshin’s voice was solemn, “I can’t afford to take care of ‘em no more. I can’t afford no school, no food, no nothin’.”

Ryuuken considered him for a moment. He spoke slowly: “I _have_ a son, Isshin. And have you met him recently? I got my hands full as is, honestly.”

“I know! I know. It’s just- is there _anyone_ who’d take ‘em?” Isshin stared at his feet, and his shoulders tensed up. “I adore my girls. It- it kills me to havta do this, Doc.”

Ryuuken’s sharp features softened just a little. He could make out, through the long shadows that haunted this time of day, tears welling in his friend’s eyes.

“Best I can tell you is a groupa street kids.”

“URCHINS? Are you even TRYI-?”

“They’re like a family, Isshin.”

“And what, you come by them in a business opportunity? That the sorta group they are?”

“I’ve only hearda them. Shihouins pay ‘em- use ‘em as spies or informants.” _As do the Kuchikis…_ he thought, _but that would NOT be helpin’ my case…_ “I can guarantee you the girls won’t starve. Karin’s a bit of a bruiser already ain’t she?”

“…The street kids. They gotta name?”

“Karakura.”

Isshin’s eyes shut tight. His voice was strained and shaking. “Karakura. I got it.”

 

**7 Years Later, 10th September, 1928:-**

 

“I’m tellin’ ya one more time ‘fore I call the cops- get yer ass outta my shop!”

A boy of about eighteen years hit the pavement with a thud. His trilby hat flew off and landed a few feet to his right. He glared back at the huge snarling man standing over him. His grey waistcoat had come undone at the front, and his shirt had come untucked. His tie hung loosely half-way down his chest. The main street behind him was crowded and noisy, breezers and irons honking all over the place. A strong stench of burning fuel filled the air, and seemed to choke the remaining sunlight from the sky.

“And I’m tellin’ you one more time, you ol’ geezer,” he spat, as he pushed himself off the ground, “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!” He picked the old brown hat off the street next to him, and replaced it on his ginger head. The band around it was torn in several places, and its brim was a little misshapen. He tried to look as dignified as he could as he scowled and sauntered away from the dingy newsagents. The large man was bellowing with laughter behind him, a scar that ran over his deep red lips seemed to stretch and contract with each heaving breath.

“Yer a fighter, kid. Born an’ bred I’ll bet. I’ll give ya that. But ‘the hell makes you think that’s any excuse for sockin’ one a’ my regulars sommin fierce, uh? Beat it, Ichigo Kurosaki.”

The boy’s hands balled into fists, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. He had to take a few moments to compose himself. _Last thing I need is to get into another fight…_ he told himself. He hastily stuffed his shirt back into his pants and pulled his tie back up to his throat. With one last deadly glance in the newsagent’s direction, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his cheap suit pants and walked away down the crowded main street. He could make out the sun beginning to set through the industrial smog that seemed to sit over the city like a blanket. 

When he was sure he was out of his ex-boss’ line of sight, he slowed his pace and relaxed his shoulders. He audibly groaned, causing a few passersby to glance at him in mild concern. _Boy am I in trouble when I get home… Can’t let my witch of a cousin see me without a job again…_ He considered his options: He could go straight home and admit to getting sacked, or he could spend what little daylight remained job hunting. Option two would probably result in less humiliation he figured. Probably.

“Oi, Ichigo!” A sly voice called out from the alley he was currently passing. A tall girl wearing a dusty white shirt and what looked to be the remains of a flat cap stepped out of the shadows. She smirked at him. “Canned again?”

_I was wrong._

“Ain’t none ‘a your business, Tatsuki. Go be an urchin someplace else.”

The girl only laughed, and he rolled his head to the side to face her. She raised her eyebrows at him. “You slay me, y’know?”

“I just don’ need you gettin’ all in my face about it, ‘ight Tatsuki?”

The girl studied him for a moment, before sighing and running a hand through her black spiky hair. “Jeez, you been fightin’ again ain’tcha? Dammit Ichigo, you ain’t never gonna hold a job if ya don’t drop the vigilante baloney.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Get off my back. They was pickin’ on a kid.”

“S’what I mean!” She pointed an accusatory finger at him, “You can’t ‘elp yerself. Anyway-” She clapped her hands in front of her. “I’d love to stay and beat my gums a while longer, but, unlike yerself, I gotta job.”

“Which one’s you workin’ for this time?”

“Kuchikis.”

“Well, best ‘a luck with- whatever the hell it is ya do, Tatsuki. Don’t take any wooden nickels.” He turned away from the alley and waved over his shoulder.

_That damn Ichigo..._ Tatsuki watched him with a furrowed brow, _‘E’s gonna get ‘imself in real trouble one ‘a these days…_ She turned as well, and crept back into the shadows. Mission was simple enough this time. Just recon. There was supposed to be a meeting in the Underside. _Aw hell!_ Tatsuki slapped a hand to her forehead, _I’m gonna be late!_

Back on the main street, Ichigo continued to walk, slightly more sullenly than before. _I doubt there’s anywhere left’d take me now…_

“Ichigo! What’s eatin’ ya, man?” 

Ichigo’s head snapped up at the familiar voice. 

“K-Kaien?” 

A man stood on the opposite side of the street waving ostentatiously at him. Save for hair colour, the two of them could have been twins. Kaien beckoned for him to come over, and glancing cautiously down each end of the street, Ichigo crossed over to join him. He was wearing a clean brown suit- not too expensive, mind, but it was nice. The chain of a silver watch was hanging from the right pocket of his jacket. He fixed Ichigo with a cheerful smile, and the two men began to walk down the other side of the street together. 

“Whatcha doin’ here, Kaien? Ain’tcha livin’ with Miyako now?” Ichigo asked, his eyes wide with pleasant surprise. 

Kaien laughed. “’At’s right! But we just ‘adda move again.” He winked. “Had ourselves a little ‘addition’ to the family.” He smiled at the boy’s shock. “A boy. Named him Tomio.” 

Ichigo clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, man! Why’nt ya let us know sooner?” 

Kaien shook his head. “Don’t matter. How ‘bouts you, little cousin?” He reached up to ruffle Ichigo’s hair. Despite the fact that they were basically the same height, Kaien had a good 10 years on Ichigo. 

The boy cast his brown eyes down at his feet. “I, uh…” 

“Christ, Ichigo, you didn’ get fired _again_ didja?” 

Ichigo looked guilty, and Kaien gave a mildly frustrated sigh. They walked in silence for a few minutes, past several fancy office blocks. Finally, Kaien piped up again. “Moochin’ round town… scowlin’ like that… yer lookin’ like a drugstore cowboy, kid! Guess there’s no choice. I could offer you a job if you wanna.” 

The brown eyes came alive at the words, and shot up in surprise, and they both halted at a grid-locked crossroads. 

“…What sorta job we talkin’ here?” _Not that it matters…_ He added, mentally. He’d take any job in the city- even a sewer scrubber. 

“Relax, cuz. You ever waited before?” 

“Once or twice. At some cafes Down Town.” 

Kaien gave him a light punch to the arm. “Great! You can come work with me then! I just got a post at this Italian place about… three blocks north ‘a here. Ya know… Maître D’s missing an eye, bunch ‘a ferns out the front?” 

Ichigo nodded. “Yeah, I know the one.” 

Kaien gave a dazzling smile. “Great! I’ll see ya Monday then!” He began to walk away, when he stopped, suddenly. “...Give your old man my regards, won’t ya?” 

*******

About half a mile away, in the middle of the bustling city night life, stood a reasonably modern, but with an air of wartime nostalgia Jazz club- the equal parts famous and infamous Shihouin Club. Famous mostly for its own star: The Shihouin Princess. Arguably one of the most successful female jazz musicians the country had ever seen. Infamous mostly for what lay beneath its friendly exterior: The Underside, as it had become to be known, was one of the largest and most professionally run speakeasies in the city. Where the club attracted stock brokers and lawyers, the Underside seemed to be a haven for hoods and bimbos- whose passion for alcohol had persisted, if not strengthened, during the last eight years under the Dry Laws. 

Currently though, it was still an hour or so before opening time, and as such, the tables had been arranged to form a long table that stretched across the bar’s floor. Alcoholic fumes seemed to hang in the air, and you could have sworn a purple haze obscured the low ceiling. At one end of the table sat a seemingly ageless man- He could have been forty, he could have been seventy. No-one knew, and no-one in their right mind would ever dare to ask. This man was Katsuo Shihouin. He was the most powerful man in the room and everyone, himself included, knew it. The current head of the Shihouin family was the most ruthless yet. Down each side of the table sat men and women of varying size and age, but all with equally impressive battle scars decorating their arms and faces. Standing at the opposite end of the table stood a group of three men. The one in the middle was short with a wiry figure and slightly hunched shoulders. The other two were huge, and were both wearing sunglasses, despite the dim atmosphere of the speakeasy. The small man was visible sweating and very nearly shaking. He busied his hands with the small, circular spectacles on his face, eyes darting this way and that. The fumes didn’t help his unsteady footing, but that was not at all the reason for his discomfort. The other two stood, expressionless behind him. 

Katsuo spoke, in a calm, caramel voice: “I suppose introductions are in order.” It was not a question. The stranger jumped at the abruptness of the words. 

“H-Hachirou… Tanaka.” He swallowed nervously, and forced himself to meet Katsuo’s fire-like golden eyes. 

The head of the Shihouins gave a single laugh: “Hachirou, huh? Well it’s a pleasure to finally meet the man who has been so… integral to my business ventures in the East End.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on the back of one of his hands. “Tell me, Hachirou- would ya care to explain to me what them two guys’s doin’ here?” he asked, nodding at the men behind Hachirou. 

“Them two? Oh, uh-” 

_It’s pretty damn obvious,_ Katsuo smirked at the man’s obvious discomfort, _But what the hell- let’s see what ‘e comes up with…_

“They’re my c-c-cousins. They work as my... business partners.” 

_Psh, how original._

“Alright, alright! I’ll quit skirtin’ round the point.” Katsuo straightened up in his chair, and fixed the trembling man with a harsh stare. “I want you to explain to me an’ my-” he paused to gesture to the others sitting round the table, “ _Business_ partners, exactly where the odd 2863 dollars, that I shoulda received from your district- along with the quarterly profits last month- has gotten to?” He allowed the weight of the accusation to sink in before smiling again, and glancing at the glittering watch on the man’s trembling wrist. His amber gaze was almost feline, and Hachirou could’ve sworn he could see the yellow overhead lamps glinting off sharp fangs in his open grin. “I gotta say, Hachirou- that’s a pretty orchid ya got there.” 

Hachirou’s eyes were so wide they might have popped out of his skull if not for a sudden interruption. 

“My gravest apologies, Mr. Shihouin,” A large, dark man with rectangular glasses poked his head through the doorway at the far end of the room. He wore the uniform of one of the club’s waiters, but the shirt was so tight across his chest it looked ready to burst. “Miss Yoruichi is required up top.” 

“No worries, Tessai- You’re dismissed.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Shihoin.” The man took his absence with a small nod of his head. 

Katsuo turned his attention back to the opposite end of the table. Hachirou could see his bright eyes almost glowing through the darkness between them, but strangely enough, they didn’t seem to be looking at him. 

“Ya hear that Yoruichi? Yer show’s on soon.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard the man, Papa.” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and all three of the men jumped in fright. A young woman stepped out from behind them. She had short purple hair, and the same burning gold eyes- characteristic of a Shihouin. Draped in an elegant red evening gown, she made her way over to the door the waiter had come through. Despite the fact she seemed the very picture of grace, there was something about her- perhaps the way she held her shoulders slightly squared, or perhaps her fiddling with one of the large rings on her fingers- that told Hachirou there was more to her than just a pretty face. She seemed to command a similar authority to her father.

“Oh- Yoruichi?” Her father called out to her again. “Could ya tell me how the new guys do?” 

Her brow creased a little, and she dipped her head slightly to one side. “New guys?” 

“Sure, a whole group of ‘em. Just came into town. Met one of ‘em in the newsagents and we got talkin’. I offered ‘em a slot here.” He gestured, vaguely, with his left hand. “Tall… blonde fella. Pianist I think ‘e said.” 

“Alright. I’ll stick around for their show.” _Ages since we’ve had any new faces round here… Well._ She mentally corrected herself, _Ages since we’ve had any new faces that ain’t just been here for Papa to bump off._ She closed the door behind her and made her way up the scarcely lit staircase, ducking out her head out of the way of an exposed light bulb. _Should be at least a little interestin’._

_***_

“They found ‘im out.” 

“…I see. Am I to suppose that Mr. Tanaka is no longer with us?” 

Tatsuki the street urchin considered the question for a moment. “He ain’t with no one no more. Let’s just say he’s missin’ more than ‘is watch.” 

“What a shame. I did think he was more subtle than that.” Sitting at a desk in front of the girl was a man in his twenties with long black hair he wore swept over his shoulders. He was a stark contrast to the scrappy girl in front of him, wearing an immaculate black suit and a deep blue, almost indigo cravat at his throat. He pulled open a drawer, and withdrew a single brown paper package, tied with string. “Your help is, as always, greatly appreciated, Miss Tatsuki.” He said in a monotonous voice, handing the package to the girl. 

“Well, you’re welcome, Mr. Kuchiki. Now I best be off- young’uns’ll get worried if I ain’t back in time to read to ‘em!” 

He nodded his head, slowly. Then he turned to face another girl, who was standing attentively behind him. She was considerably shorter than Tatsuki, and had the same smooth black hair as the man at the desk. “Rukia. Show Miss Tatsuki out.” 

Rukia straightened up at his voice. “Of course brother!” And she walked over with Tatsuki to the office door. ‘BYAKUYA KUCHIKI- MASTER TAILOR’ stated the large, painted letters on the frosted glass window. The whole place stank of leather and expensive cloth. 

“It was lovely to see you again, Miss Tatsuki-” Rukia began, when she was cut off by a snort of laughter from the taller girl. 

“I keep tellin’ ya to drop that load 'a formal bull! We’re the same age, ya sap!” 

Despite having met her on countless previous occasions, Rukia never ceased to be a little overcome by Tatsuki’s loud, rough nature. “R-right! Sorry- It was great seeing you again, Tatsuki!” 

Tatsuki raised an eyebrow at her. “That’ll havta do for now I s’pose.” 

She was about to say something else, when the door swung open, ringing the bell that hung above it. “Oh- nevermind. Looks like you gotta customer. I’ll see you round, right?” She said, as she turned to leave the shop, side stepping around the new customer- a boy with longish raven hair that he wore slicked back. However, it was late in the day, and a few strands had begun to fall over his eyes. He wore a similar dark suit to Byakuya’s, with a straight black tie round his neck. 

“Uh, sure!” Rukia called after her, giving her a final wave before turning to the customer. Her eyes widened a little in mild astonishment. 

“ _Uryuu?_ ” 

The boy smiled at her, nudging his glasses up his nose. “Miss Rukia. Nice to see you again.” She didn't normally get too close to people in her father's circles, but this boy had always been a bit of an exception. She'd dropped all formality with him when she began noticing the subtle sarcasm behind his impeccable manners- not to mention the fact that he was her most regular customer by far. And there was a slight edge to his voice when he spoke about his father- something she inexplicably _understood_. 

“I swear- weren’t you in here just the other week?” She shook her head a little, before heading over to a table in the corner that had various tape measures set out upon it. “Exactly how many suits does one guy even need?” 

“What? It’s my money. I worked for it. I can spend it how I like.” He said dryly, a hint of a smirk in his eyes, but his face remained set and business like. 

Rukia gave a scoff, as she picked up one of the measures. “ _Worked_ is a bit generous don’tcha think? I know you don’t think too ‘ighly ‘a your father, but without him and ‘is influence, you’d have nowhere left to ‘work’.” 

Uryuu winced, “Oof. I felt that hit.” He crossed the room to join her at the table. “I don’t suppose the boss’ in is he?” 

Rukia stiffened, gripping the tape in her hand. She tried to hide it with an especially casual tone of voice, but Uryuu saw a flicker of panic across her face. “He is. But he’s on the telephone. His father booked this time slot weeks ago. 

The boy raised his dark eyebrows in genuine shock. “Kuchiki Maximus himself?” 

Rukia burst out laughing, and clapped a hand sharply over her mouth. “K-Kuchiki Maximus? ‘The hell kinda nick name is that?” Uryuu looked down at her out of the corner of his eye, and gave a quiet smile. _Good. She can still laugh._ He shrugged, pretending to scratch a non-existent itch behind his ear. 

“My father’s words, not mine.” She could understand his shock. It was rare for the head of the Kuchiki family to make a point of speaking to anyone not in a five meter proximity of himself. He had people for that. But then again, he had people for everything. The man, whose real name was Sojun Kuchiki, was one of the most powerful in the city- in charge of the Kuchikis’ unofficial chain of speakeasies- as well as Byakuya’s father. Unlike the Shihouins’, they were spread across the city, but were all much smaller than the Underside. It was not unknown that one of these speakeasies lay in the backroom of this very tailor’s. 

“I take it this visit’s not simply to get you yer fix ‘a suits for the next few weeks, then?” 

He gave her a look, before exhaling slowly and replying: “No. It’s not. I’m supposed to try and arrange a pick up for the ‘Cola’ and 'Lemonade'.” 

Rukia’s brow twitched, irritated. “Well I don’t wanna hear about it. Honestly, I’d rather stay outta the finer details of your business in general.” She grinned at him. “That way, when the cops come, I can put on a doll face and feign ignorance.” She put down the tape measure. “’S’no point in me takin’ any ‘a your measurements. I’m almost certain I’ve got them memorized.” 

“Fine by me. I’ll trust your judgement. I’ll take the black satin.” He said reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a leather wallet. He counted the bills a few times before handing them over. “Should cover it. Plus a little extra for yourself.” 

Rukia's face shot up to frown at him. “I keep tellin’ ya, I don’t _need-_ ” 

“What? I’m not allowed to tip my tailor?” 

She heaved a dramatic sigh, placing the bills in the front of her green work apron. Uryuu cleared his throat loudly, and turned to leave the shop. “Well then, I’m afraid I have business to attend to. I’ll see you soon, Miss Rukia.” 

“With your suit addiction, I’m sure you will.” 

With one last smile in her direction, he stepped out into the darkening side street. 

_Damn it’s cold…_ He thought as he slipped his hands inside his pant pockets for warmth, _Why is September such an irritating time of year?_ Starting down away from the bustle of the city night life, he whistled softly to himself. Absentmindedly, he patted his breast pocket gently. Smiling, slyly, he gradually made his way further and further from the high streets, and deeper into the crooked alleyways of the Down Town. 

After fifteen or so minutes of seemingly random navigation through the maze of side streets, he pulled a packet of cigarettes from one jacket pocket, and a lighter from the other. He came to a halt next to a particularly dingy looking backstreet and leaned against the crumbling brick wall, sticking a cig in his mouth, and lighting it. He took a long drag and collected himself, before entering. 

“One ‘a you boys order a Cola?” He called into the apparently empty alleyway. Several figures began to rise from the darkness that clung to the grime-covered walls, moving as if they were made of shadows themselves. Uryuu’s eyes flitted between them. Seven- no, six. Well, this is gonna be a fun night. 

The group’s apparent leader staggered up to him. A short, pot-bellied man, with a permanently red face, which didn’t go too well with his blonde- nearly white- hair- and something about his stature seemed a little… off. He approached warily at first, but once he caught sight of Uryuu’s appearance, he relaxed and laughed out loud. 

“’The hell is this? It’s just a kid.” He rolled his head over his shoulder and called out to his companions, who nervously joined in with his sudden outburst of chortling. Taking a deep, raspy breath, he turned back to face Uryuu. “How come someone as notorious as Doc Ishida’s got some kid like you doin’ ‘is business? What are you like… sixteen?” 

“Seventeen. And you really think ‘Doc Ishida’ has got time to meet bums like you in person?” The cigarette in his mouth jiggled as he spoke. “I’ll ask again. One ‘a you boys order a Cola?” 

A vein pulsed in the blonde man’s forehead, but he restrained himself. “Yeah, yeah alright.” He glowered. 

Uryuu gave an open smile, and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a few paper bags, rolled up and sealed with rubber bands. As soon as he had placed them into the eager hands of the man in front of him, he felt the cold metal of a shotgun pressed to the back of his head. _Damn. It was seven._ He raised his hands slowly, and exhaled heavily, smoke blowing into the cool night air around him. 

“Now come on, gentlemen- what’s this all about?” 

The man’s demeanor had changed yet again, and he went back to laughing in Uryuu’s face. He even had the nerve to strut a little, and his lackies came up beside him, grinning like wild animals. “Oh… it’s ‘gentlemen’ now is it? I’s under the i’pression we’s bums to you!” 

_Oh... I get it- he’s intoxicated. I’m almost thankful to Ryuuken. This will make the whole affair go a lot more smoothly._

He was about to gloat some more when Uryuu suddenly jerked his head to the left and slammed his right elbow into the man behind him’s stomach. He collapsed winded, and the gun was lost under the shadows of a dumpster. The gang hesitated just a moment in shock, before launching themselves at him. With one last kick at the man’s head for good measure, Uryuu set his sights on his attackers. Most of them looked to be ridiculously drunk, but one in particular looked largely sober. Let’s save him ‘til last then… was all Uryuu had time to think before the first flying fist arrived in front of him. He side-stepped easily, and the man’s momentum caused him to fall flat on his face- on top of the already sleeping gun-wielder. The man was out like a light. 

_Oh please, make this a_ challenge _at least._

He dodged a swing from one of the taller men, and swiped at his legs in retaliation with his left foot. Before the man could hit the floor, a sharp uppercut was delivered straight to his chin, sending him staggering backwards into a nearby pile of cardboard boxes. 

Two of the remaining four hoods threw themselves at him simultaneously- one from each side. He ducked out of the way, causing them to smash heads with each other. That only left the leader, and the sober guy. The leader came for him first, pulling a long shiv out of his torn jacket. He clumsily thrust the point between Uryuu’s eyes, but the hand was caught before it could strike and held in place. With his free hand, Uryuu removed his cigarette from between his teeth and pushed the burning tip into the man’s flesh. He yelped in pain, and the knife clattered onto the darkened pavement. Chucking the cig away, he floored the drunken man with a final hit to his right ear.

Uryuu grabbed the knife from the cobbled floor and began twirling it delicately between the fingers of his left hand. 

The two standing men faced each other; there were maybe six or so feet between them. Moonlight glinted off a butterfly knife in the stranger’s right hand. 

Uryuu smirked at him. “So who goes first?” 

The man grimaced and tried a quick jab to Uryuu’s left wrist. He came a lot faster than Uryuu had anticipated- only just managing to draw his hand away. He could feel a shallow cut. 

_Well, I’m not gonna waste any more time here. This man is too much of a threat to be left alone, though...._ Uryuu took a fraction of a second to take in the man’s appearance: Spiky, black hair- Muscular, but not a particularly large figure, maybe… six foot two? _In other words,_ he thought, creasing his brow, _no discernible characteristics._

_Better change that._

He sent his own knife spinning in front of the man’s face, before grabbing it in mid-air with his right hand and slashing horizontally, leaving a deep cut from the man’s left cheek to the bridge of his nose. The man shrieked in pain and dropped to his knees- his knife was gone and his hands were clasped over the wound on his face, blood spilling between his fingers. Uryuu brought his knee up to connect with the man’s now ruined nose, knocking him to the top of the now substantial pile of unconscious bodies. 

After checking they were all still breathing, Uryuu turned to leave the alley- before remembering the reason he’d originally come. He rifled through the pockets of the leader and of the sober man- the two he had deemed most likely to be carrying the cash. His suspicions proved correct. The sober man had the exact amount in the inside of his jacket. Uryuu plucked the bills from the pocket before placing them in his own. 

As he was leaving the side street, he felt himself step on something. He looked down to find the man’s butterfly knife beneath his foot. 

_…Wouldn’t hurt._ He reasoned, picking it up and stuffing it discreetly in his left pant pocket. 

He walked, nonchalantly, out of the alley- another lit cigarette already in his mouth- as if taking an evening stroll, and surveyed the damage to his left wrist. The cut itself was little more than a scratch, but that wasn’t what he was concerned over: there was now a wide tear in both his suit jacket and dress shirt, just above the wound. 

_And she wonders why I’m in there so often…_ he smiled. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud whistle from his left. He cocked his head slightly to see Isshin, his father’s old friend, leaning, relaxed, against a blackened brick wall. He was grinning. In all of Uryuu’s memories of this man, he was always grinning. 

“You pick that up from your father?” he asked, jokingly, gesturing to the cigarette. “Well, I s’pose it does fit with the family business…” 

Uryuu exhaled, exasperated, and took the cig between two of his fingers. “With Ryuuken for a father, you gotta have some sorta hobby to relax.” 

Isshin chuckled. “Like, fightin’? Stealin’? _Gamblin’_?” 

The last accusation seemed to tick the boy off, and his forehead twitched a little in annoyance. “I don’t _gamble_.” He said through gritted teeth, running a hand through his black hair to try and smooth it back down. 

“Please, you must spend ‘alf yer life at that damn casino.” 

“I never said I don’t _play_ ; I said I don’t _gamble_.” 

“Oh, I’m well awares,” Isshin retorted. He screwed up his face in thought. “I don’t think… anyone’s beaten ya since you was five years old.” Then he paused: “’Ow come ol’ Zaraki ain’t kicked you out yet?” 

Uryuu eyed him, looking slightly tired. “I’ll use your phrase. Gotta thank the ‘family business’.” 

Isshin laughed him off. “You best be thankful to yer old man once in a while- half the city’s in yer pockets thanks to yer business. Speakin’ ‘a Ryuuken, you better get on home now kid. Wouldn’t wantcha old man to worry now, wouldja?” 

“I’ll see you ‘round, Isshin.” The boy placed the cig back between his teeth and gave a mock salute. With that, he swiveled around, and started back down the street he’d come from. 

Isshin watched the boy leave, before letting out a puff of air, and leaning himself against the wall again. _‘Family business’._

_Everything in this city’s a goddam family business._


	2. Scoop of the Decade

For whatever reason, it seemed to Yoruichi that her show tonight was especially… generic. She was falling deeper and deeper into the cyclic nature of the performance: start up, crescendo, dramatic finish, applause. Repeat. It was the first time she could remember that she wished for a clock in the club instead of just old army recruitment posters from the war, and a few pieces from her father’s renaissance art collection, just so she’d have something to watch. 

She didn’t dare let any of this show on her face however- she was the Shihouin Princess, and she had a particularly substantial reputation to hold up, so instead, she took to scanning the crowd- see if there were any interesting types in the audience tonight. Her mouth moved of its own accord- singing the same old lyrics to the same old tunes- she hadn’t put out a new record in a while. It wasn’t that she’d hit a wall by any means, just a little song-writer’s block. She put it down to lack of inspiration.

She could make out a few familiar faces in the sea of cheering people below the stage: Mr. Eshima and his chronically bored wife; the Iwahara brothers- one of whom had once tried to hit on her (unsuccessfully, thanks very much), Old Mrs. Nakamura with her small army of daughters, and Mr. Sasakibe, the arts journalist from the local paper. However, where she normally would have given these people at least a glance or a friendly smile, she instead found herself staring at a particular group of new faces in the furthest right corner.

Even before she noticed the multiple black suitcases littered around their tables, it was obvious they were the ‘new guys’ her father had told her about, and they were an interesting bunch indeed. Studying them seemed a far better use of her energy than putting any special effort into her performance tonight. So instead, she tried to guess which member of the group had convinced her father, of all people, to give his group a slot somewhere as well-known as the Shihouin club. _Let’s see now… Papa said the pianist was tall… and blond…_

Two of them seemed to fit the description: one of them was sitting towards the back of the group, apparently engaged in debate with another member, a darker man with a huge mass of curly brown hair. _No… not him…_ Yoruichi deduced, _Hair’s too long. Seems a little too into his looks. Which means…_ Her eyes fell on the other man.

Sitting backwards on a chair, right at the front of the group, the man was the only one who seemed to be giving her show his full attention. To say she was a little shocked would have been an understatement. His appearance: everything from his limp, low-effort hairstyle to the way he held himself a little hunched over on the back of the chair, resting his chin on his arms, screamed modesty. _So how in hell…_ Yoruichi’s forehead nearly creased, _did this nervous-lookin’ sap convince Papa to give ‘is group a set? Look at him with his big puppy-dog eyes, I guess-_

_Oh._

He had noticed her staring, and had had the nerve to wink at her.

 _Oh…_ Yoruichi smirked, pleasantly surprised, _this guy’s more fun than he looks._

She deliberately ignored him for the remainder of her show, now more desperate than ever for it to just get over and done with. She just _had_ to see this group now: every single one of them were serious oddballs, but _that_ one… he was more than odd, he was _intriguing._

Mercifully, twenty minutes later, her show _did_ finally come to an end- but there was no time for her to talk to any of them before they went on- she had to go and get herself dressed down backstage, wash all the stage make-up off and the like.

She took a final bow to the thundering applause, and with a winning smile, she strutted into the wings. The instant she was out of sight of the audience, her face sunk into a tired grimace. _Thank the fuckin’ lord that’s over with…_ One of her band member stopped on their way to the dressing rooms in concern.

“Miss Yoruichi? You doin’ alright?”

“Hm? Oh, sure, Hana- don’t worry ‘bout it.” She shook her head dismissively. “Just had a late night yesterday, I just need a little rest is all.” She couldn’t tell the poor girl the real reason she looked so annoyed. _Kid’d probably go thinkin’ it was the band’s fault if I said anythin’ ‘bout the show bein’ any worse ‘n usual. Ain’t that it was worse, just… samey._

She gave the anxious girl a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before continuing through the maze of crimson curtains and black brick walls to the dressing rooms, into the waiting arms of her hoard of stylists. _Oh Christ here we go…_ she groaned. _I’ll be lucky if I catch any ‘a their performance at all._

When they eventually released her, she knew the show was nearly over. She’d heard loud rounds of applause throughout the forty five minutes or so she’d been in the dressing room, which only served to add to her urgency. Moving as quickly as she could, she made her way back to the club’s entrance, and pushed open the main doors into the audience section.

If she thought they had been an odd group before, then she was doubly sure of it now. All of them, including the three girls, were wearing either a suit or a dress shirt of some description. _I know female fashion’s taken a turn for the boyish, but this is new..._ she pondered. Personally, she was all for this change in female image. Shirts and pants were so much easier to maneuver in than skirts and heavy jewelry- and she was clearly not the only woman of this opinion.

Most of their suits were uniform: black tie, black pants, white shirt- a few wore a black jacket- but one of them stuck out: the pianist. His suit pants and tie were black, like the other members, but on his head he wore a white fedora with a colored band around it. The stage lighting made it a little difficult to tell specifically _which_ colour, but Yoruichi was fairly confident it was dark green.

The band was made up of nine members: the pianist, an alto saxophone, a drummer, a trumpet, a trombone, a string bass, a tuba, a clarinet and a guitarist.

 _No vocalist..._ Yoruichi noted. Their style seemed to fit Dixieland pretty snugly as well.

Despite his distinctive look, the pianist again seemed to slip into the background of the group. He never made any expressly extravagant motions, still retaining that slightly understated, mild persona. She supposed this could partly be due to the lead: the alto sax. He was another blond, but a head or so shorter than the other two.

He fit the role of lead pretty well: he knew he had talent and he wasn’t afraid to flaunt it. In fact, the whole group seemed to be immensely talented musicians. _Papa’s found himself a good bunch… wonder if they’re well-known at all._ However, Yoruichi knew it wasn’t raw talent that made a sound like this- especially not with Dixieland. _Oh boy, they’ve been playing together a lo~ng time._ She gave a low whistle. _Yeah, that kinda sound’s only ever achieved when the members know each other inside out._

The song seemed to be reaching a crescendo, and she sensed the show was nearing its end. With one last particularly lengthy solo from the saxophonist, they had played their set. Over the sound of thunderous clapping and whooping, she managed to shout to the man standing next to her:

_“Don’t s’pose you know what this bunch’s called, do ya?”_

_“If I remember correctly, they said they was the Visored.”_

_Visored? Never ‘eard of ‘em._ Yoruichi raised an eyebrow, and looked back at the group, who were now taking their bows. Although her intention had originally just been to observe their show, she decided it would be a good idea to get to know them personally; it seemed that the Shihouin Club was finally getting another semi-permanent act, and she never passed up an opportunity to meet new people. Her best course of action was probably to head for their dressing room.

Searching the corridors for a room marked ‘Visored’, she eventually arrived at the dressing room the group had been assigned. Upon entering, she saw that they had been given one of the nicer rooms in the club: plenty of light- which did help to brighten up the slightly dingy nature of the club’s black walls, lots of places to sit- there were even a few bath tubs behind some curtains at the far end. Mirrors lined each wall, and there were a couple wooden wardrobes in one corner. It was only a couple doors down from Yoruichi’s own room. Having arrived before the band themselves, she took a few minutes to look around, before she heard voices echoing down the corridor outside.

First to enter was the lead, who seemed engaged in a very heated argument with the trumpet player- a short blond girl who seemed to… _radiate_ noise- however, the lead stopped in his tracks, mouth hanging open when he saw Yoruichi. This only further annoyed the trumpet player.

“Oi! Shinji! ‘The hell’s ya mouth hangin’ open like some sorta trash can for, huh?” She followed his line of sight, and spotted Yoruichi. “What? It’s a pretty lady? C’mon Shinji ya _sap_ , yer _surrounded_ by pretty ladies most ‘a the time, what’s eatin’ ya?”

The lead, who was apparently named Shinji, ignored her, and managed to croak out:

“Y-yer… the Shihouin Princess… _THE_ Shihouin Princess…”

“I was aware.” Yoruichi snickered.

“Who the hell’s the ‘Shihouin Princess’, ‘uh Shinji?” yelled the trumpet player. Then turning her attention to Yoruichi, “’the hell are you?”

“Hiyori, you _dumb little-_ ” He paused to rub the bridge of his nose. “This ‘ere’s Yoruichi Shihouin- the Shihouin Princess. C’mon, I know ya don’t listen to a lot ‘a music outside Dixieland but- you shoulda at _least_ ‘a heard ‘a _her!_ ”

“Hey! What’s the hold up in there?” A low, angry sounding voice shouted from the corridor, “C’mon Shinji, I gotta get this tie off ‘a me already!”

A man with close-cropped white hair pushed his way through the door, followed by the rest of the group. Yoruichi recognized him as the drummer. He looked between Yoruichi’s raised eyebrows and Shinji’s gob smacked expression and gave an exasperated sigh. Looking up at Yoruichi, he said:

“Shinji been gettin’ a lil’ over-excited?”

“Nah, don’ worry nothin’,” Yoruichi yawned, secretly pleased at the impact she was having. She hadn’t toured in a while, and had nearly forgotten how great it was meeting jazz-obsessed folks like this Shinji. “I’m used to it.”

The drummer nodded, and held out his hand in front of him. “Nice to meet ya, Miss Shihouin. Name’s Kensei.” Yoruichi took the hand and shook it. 

“Nice to meet ya too. Oh, and you all can drop the ‘Miss Shihouin’ garbage- Yoruichi’s fine.”

“Oh- right, where are my manners” Shinji appeared to shake himself out of his trance. “Great to meet ya, Yoruichi, I’m- I’m a big fan.” He was still trembling a little, much to Yoruichi’s amusement. She turned her attention to the rest of the group, covertly searching for the pianist.

She shook each of them by the hand as they walked in, although her entire wrist had very nearly been crushed by the tuba player- a gigantic man by the name of Hachigen. The other blond man- the guitarist- was named Rose, and the man he had been chatting too in the audience played the string bass, and was named Love. The other two girls, who played the clarinet and the trombone, were Lisa and Mashiro respectively, but the pianist was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’ mean to be rude but, weren’t there a pianist up there with you guys?” She addressed the group.

Hiyori replied in an irritated tone, “Yeah- ‘e forgot his music the _sap_. Should be back on the main stage.”

“Ya don’t have to be so damn _rude_ the whole time, Hiyori,” Shinji huffed, looking down at the girl, “Would it kill ya to call ‘im by ‘is name ‘stead ‘a ‘sap’ fer _once_?”

“Quit yer badgerin’ Shinji! I’ll call ‘im whatever the hell I want!”

“Why ya-”

Yoruichi interrupted before they could get too far into another yelling match: “Awright. Thanks for the pointer.” She left the increasingly noisy dressing room and began to make her way back to the front. Subconsciously or not, her pace had quickened a little. _I just need to meet the guy who managed to sweet talk my father into givin’ his band a slot at the club,_ she told herself, _nothin’ more._

She went back through the stage door, into the deep red wings of the main stage, and caught sight of him, sitting at the piano again. He was lazily hitting a few keys- humming along to the tune. He occasionally sang a few words in a warm, murmuring voice. He still had his white- well it was more cream than white now she could see it properly- fedora on, but he’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and was generally sitting in a far more casual manner than he had on stage, where he’d seemed more than a little stiff. He must have heard her footsteps because he stopped playing instantly, and swiveled his head over his shoulder. A brief flicker of surprise crossed his face, before being replaced by the same lazy smile he’d been wearing when she saw him in the audience.

“Miss Yoruichi, I presume?” _Even his voice…_ Yoruichi gave a small chuckle, _Yeah, this guy’s got the sweet-talking jig down to a tee._ The immediate use of her first name was a nice surprise- even if the ‘Miss’ seemed a little awkward.

“That’s right. Sorry- I bumped into the rest of yer group in the dressin’ room, but I didn’ catch yer name, Mr.…?” She continued walking over, and he got up from his piano stool to meet her. The top button of his shirt had been undone, and he’d loosened his tie. They stopped in front of each other at around center stage. 

“Urahara. Kisuke Urahara.”

“Kisuke then. You uh... you guys come in from New Orleans?” She asked, trying to sound casual. _Trying? TRYING? Why would I need to try?_ Maybe she really was tired.

Kisuke’s eyebrows twitched a little in surprise, and he made an overly dramatic gesture of looking over both shoulders, raising his arms above his head. “What, do I have a… luggage tag on me or something?”

Yoruichi gave a chuckle and shook her head at him. He glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled back, lowering his arms back in front of him. His hands never seemed to still- he was always cracking his knuckles or tapping his fingers on the backs- fiddling in any case. _What a true pianist._

“You’re a Dixieland group right? All the best come from New Orleans.”

“The ‘best’? I’m flattered, Miss Yoruichi.” He reached up to move his hat slightly further forward over his face, casting shadows over his misty grey eyes.

“Give yerself at least a _little_ credit- speakin’ ‘a which…” she paused, and her expression changed to one of intrigue and mild confusion, “what’s someone with as nice a voice as yers doin’ in a Dixieland group?”

His jaw dropped open, and he froze all over. She swore she could see the faintest of blushes appear on his cheeks.

“Oh, you- you heard that then?”

 _Got 'im_. “I ain’t deaf, Kisuke.” She cocked her head to one side and leaned a little closer towards him. His chin was a tad unshaven. “So c’mon. Out with it.”

His hand returned to its place in front of him, and he went back to his nervous fidgeting. “Well, I uh…” He swallowed, “I’m not much of a center stage guy, y’know?”

She couldn’t help herself, she burst out in hoots of laughter. “I don’t believe that for one _damn_ second, Kisuke Urahara!” She steadied herself, and with one final sigh, poked an accusatory finger into his chest. “Come _off it_! No-one who sweet-talked my father into giving ‘im a shot at the club could _possibly_ have to use a sappy excuse like that!”

Kisuke groaned a little, but his expression softened back into an easy smile. “Christ, you’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Quit tryna change the subject. You can drop that ‘meek-and-mild’ garbage while yer at it.”

Kisuke raised his arms in mock surrender. “Alright, you got me! I’m not such a ‘meek-and-mild’ character after all, I’m actually more-” Then he paused, and the volume of his voice dropped almost to a whisper, “Actually... don’t suppose you’d care to find out?” Even though he’d deliberately made his face into an ‘open’ and ‘honest’ expression, pulling out his puppy-dog eyes again, she could hear the grin in his voice.

She raised her eyebrows, pleasingly surprised. “Well, I’m _guessing_ yer pretty audacious… which only _furthers my point_.” She punctuated her words with a few pokes. "Why you bein' so weirdly defensive 'bout this?"

Kisuke sighed, and folded his arms in front of him. “You’re really not gonna drop this?” His demeanor changed, and he seemed to grow anxious again. Different from beforehand though- apparently more sincere. “W-well, if you really _must_ know, I-”

“Oi! The hell’s taken ya so long, sap?” A sharp voice from the wings made them both jump, and Hiyori emerged, looking even more pissed off than before- something Yoruichi had not thought possible. “We’re all waitin’ on ya, and I don’ know ‘bout you, but I’m pretty damn tired!”

Kisuke full-on _smirked_ at Yoruichi, “Saved by the bell, as it were.” He gave her a polite tip of his hat, before following the already-cursing girl towards the stage door.

“You sly little-”

“I’ll be seeing you around then I suppose, Miss Yoruichi.” He interjected, and gave her a final wink before shutting the door behind him.

She stood on the darkened stage in silence for a few seconds, before exhaling heavily, and sinking down onto one of the band stools. 

_Oh boy, are this lot gonna be fun._

 

***

 

The city docks were about a half-hour drive east from the Shihouin club. Where they had once been a bustling area of trade and activity, due to the largely fishing-focused culture the city had originally had, they were now almost obsolete. The majority of the smaller fishing vessels had been forced to pack up shop by the new, more industrial methods of fishing: there simply wasn’t a living to be made for the average Joe anymore. As such, many of the warehouses had simply been abandoned, and the city council hadn’t had the heart or the money to demolish them.

These warehouses ranged in size- from tiny fishing huts to huge, factory-like storage spaces, and by this point in time, most of them were teeming with squatters, or gangs of hoodlums of some description. Therefore, the docks seemed an ideal location for the Karakura street gang to set up a home base back when the group had been started in the late 1890s. Members came and went over the years- some staying longer than others, but so far, all had either moved on or died early deaths.

Among the current generation of the Karakura gang was Tatsuki Arisawa, seventeen years old- the same age as most of the current members. They did what the group had always done: run errands for whoever would give them money, and for the past twenty or so years, the surest source of income for the group _had_ to have been the Shihouin/Kuchiki conflict. 

No-one could remember what had started the conflict, and none of the parties involved really cared anymore. All anyone knew was that the two families hated each other’s guts. It gave the heads of the family an excuse to compete, and it allowed groups like Tatsuki’s to make a decent living.

Well, ‘decent’ would be a little generous. They hadn’t managed to move out of their warehouse yet. Even with all the money they’d earned, they could still only afford to feed and clothe themselves.

After leaving the Kuchiki’s tailor shop, Tatsuki had headed straight for the warehouse- maybe a twenty or so minute walk. On the way, as discreetly as she could manage, she pulled the strings around that brown paper package to reveal its contents: 10 single dollar bills. Tatsuki gave a low whistle, and hastily stuffed the bills into the pocket of her ripped denim pants. She hugged her arms round her chest and shivered. _Damn… shoulda taken a jacket this mornin’._

Eventually, she arrived at the dock’s entrance: a rickety wooden archway that used to read ‘Fish Market’. She navigated her way through the labyrinth of identical fishing huts with only the moon now for light. She seemed to reach the one door she was looking for, and after rapping impatiently on the ancient timbers, she called out: “Oi! Ain’t no-one up? ‘S’me! Job went on a lil’ late I’m sorry ‘kay?”

The door opened slowly, creaking and whining on its rusty hinges, and a yawning voice answered her from inside.

“God awmighty Tatsuki, you got any idea what time it is?”

“Not ‘less you’ve gone an’ bought me a watch since I’s been out, Keigo.”

The boy gave a tired smile, and she followed him into the cabin. It was simple enough inside: the walls were all metal paneling, with a few circular window scattered around. Eight make-shift beds had been layed out in various spots on the floor: simple blankets and pillows. Extra blankets had been piled up in one corner- which they were going to need to start using pretty soon as the cold was already beginning to set in this year. Two of the beds already had sleeping occupants: twin girls, aged about eleven. Next to their beds, there were stacks and stacks of dog-eared books of all genres and era conceivable.

“Young’uns're asleep already, huh?”

“Somehow.” Another boy replied, looking up from the book he himself was reading in the bed nearest to the door. “They’s heartbroken when you weren’ here to read to ‘em. Just be thankful Orihime got back early enough instead.”

“Oh, c’mon Mizuiro…” a girl with glowing light brown hair pouted at him from across the room, “Tatsuki was only tryin’ her hardest!”

Mizuiro gave a resigned smile back. “Yeah, ‘a course. Sorry, Orihime.”

“How much this time?” A voice seemed to come from nowhere, and Keigo nearly screamed.

“ _C-Christ_ Chad…” he stammered, “How long’s you been back there?”

A massively tall boy came out from a particularly dark corner of the room- in the shadow of the door. “I- I do _sleep_ here, Keigo.” He murmured, in a quiet, deep voice.

Tatsuki ignored Keigo’s eccentric reactions, and answered, nonchalantly: “10 bucks.”

Silence fell on the room, and all eyes turned to her as she casually pulled the bills out of her pocket and dropped them into a dented metal bucket behind the door. She straightened up and briefly scanned the room.

“Chizuru still ain’t back then?”

Keigo snapped out of his bewildered daze: “Nah- but she told us to expect this. She’s ah… ‘Sleepin’ elsewhere’ tonight.”

Tatsuki shuddered. “I don’t get how she can put up with it. Put me in a shiv fight any day ‘a the week but _that…_ ” She just shook her head, and crossed the room to her own bed, between Orihime and the already sleeping Karin.

“You ok, Tatsuki?” Orihime glanced at her with mild concern, “You catchin’ a cold or somethin’?”

“Nah, I’ll be awright. Jus’ shoulda taken a jacket this mornin’ is all. I just need a little sleep, yeah?”

“Yeah, I understand.” Orihime yawned, “Oh- sorry, Tatsuki. I guess I must need a little sleep myself!” She giggled, dozily. “Yuzu was getting’ so worked up y’know? Worried you’d left like their old man did.”

“Jus’ cause I’s a little late back? How long they been with us again?”

“Gotta be goin’ on for seven years? Kaworu was still ‘round, so must be there or thereabouts.”

“You’d ‘a thought they’d ‘a gotten used to late nights by now, wouldn’tcha?”

“That’s a little unfair, Tatsuki…” Orihime sighed and sank her head back onto her lumpy pillow, crossing her arms over her eyes, “Those poor girls- all they ever go on ‘bout is findin’ their old man.” 

Tatsuki scoffed, “Well that’s a lost cause. Why’d they wanna go findin’ some coward who’d abandon two four-year-olds in a shipping yard?”

“Tatsuki! That’s exactly the point!” Orihime groaned, a little exasperated, “He knew where we were- he meant for them to be found!” She paused and rolled over to her side, “I’m sure he was heartbroken to have to give up two girls as great as those two.” And then more quietly, “… I know I would be.”

“I’m gonna go ahead and hit the lights, awright?” Keigo called from across the room. What he meant by ‘hit the lights’ was blow out all the candles- there was no way for them to get any access to the gas or electricity mains all the way out here.

“Sure. G’night, Keigo.”

And as the candles went out one by one, and the room slipped further and further into the darkness outside, Tatsuki drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

**11th September, 1928**

 

Back in the dingy downtown alleyway, the sober man was beginning to wake. The world swam before his eyes and he groaned as he pushed himself onto his elbows. Realizing he was still lying on top of a pile of unconscious bodies, he groaned louder and rolled away onto the cold cobbled street. He reached up to rub his eyes, but the second his fist touched his face, a burning pain shot across his cheek and he recoiled sharply, crying out in shock. He blinked a few times, confused, before the events of the previous night came rushing back to him. _Oh. Right._ He hauled himself onto his feet, using a wall for support, and felt along it for a window. He could just about see his reflection, in the moonlight: there was a huge, ugly cut that spread all the way across his left cheek, just under his eye, to the bridge of his nose, and dried blood stained his face and hands, matting some of his untidy black fringe. He grimaced, and had to restrain himself from smashing the mirror.

_Come on now, what good would that do? It’s yer own damn fault yer here in the first place, should never‘ve got yerself involved with the Ishidas. ‘Specially since it weren’ yer business._

The man was teetotal. He’d never even touched _alcohol_ , let alone what the gang last night had ordered. He wasn’t a hoodlum either. He had a nice job uptown at the radio station, and, particularly in recent years, had tried to stay out of the street scene entirely. Yeah, he’d left that stuff behind him, he’d been sure, he smiled, sliding his hand into the pocket of his pants, but recently it seemed, his right hand had been itching to do something a little more than play with his uncle’s custom-made... butterfly-... _Oh damnit!_

The pocket was empty.

His eyes grew wide with panic and, getting down on his hands and knees, he began to search frantically- every inch of the alleyway, under the pile of sleeping hoodlums, even in all of their pockets, but-

 _That_ bastard _stole my knife!_

He had kept telling himself he didn’t like to fight, that the only reason he ever did was to make sure the pins in his knife didn’t rust up, or that it was only ever in self-defense, but even still, that knife meant a lot to him. He grunted, loudly, in frustration, but took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. _Let’s just get on home. If I can make it back ‘fore dark, no-one’ll go starin’ at my face._

 

***

Eight or so hours later, he was trudging up a black metal staircase in the center of the business district. The radio station took up half of the office on the top floor. _I’m in for a lo~t of grief..._ He thought, resignedly as he turned the doorknob and stepped into the office. He’d hastily stuck a make-shift bandage over the wound to his face, and had managed to wash the majority of the blood out of his hair, but even still, he knew he must look a state.

Inside the door, the top floor was split into two separate offices with a corridor running down the middle that led to their shared bathrooms. On the left, lay his own office: the radio station, and to the right lay the local newspaper head-quarters.

 _Aw, hell!_ The man slid quickly through the door on the left, slamming it behind him. _There’s no way I can let that sap Izuru see this! Wait-_ His brow furrowed, and he corrected himself. _N-not that I care what a dumbo like that thinks- he’d just get all in my face ‘bout losin’ a fight is all. I jus’ don’ need gettin’ all worked up at this time in the mornin’._ He was blushing a little- he put it down to having come up three flights of stairs. Looking across the room at the startled faces of his co-workers he murmured, as monotonously as he could, “Sorry I’m late. Ya wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Shuuhei!” A tall woman with strawberry blonde hair yelled at him from a desk next to the broadcasting studio, before being sharply shushed by everyone else: they were on air and the walls of the studio didn’t do much for sound-proofing. With the same angry expression, she beckoned him over to her desk, and whispered, in a voice full of spite:  
“ _Where the hell have you been? We had to get Renji to cover your mornin’ show as well as ‘is usual noon time. Poor guy’s been on the air for at least six hours. You’re never late to work Shuuhei, so ya better start ‘splaining pretty damn fast!_ ”

She wasn’t kidding. He was normally already working long before anyone else arrived- partly due to the fact he had the morning show, but mostly because he was one of the most hard-working men in the city. Shuuhei listened with his head bowed. “Sorry, Rangiku. Got myself involved with a bunch ‘a bimbos.”

Rangiku’s face grew more and more inflamed with rage.

“ _Bimbos_? I thought you were _through_ with all that bull, Shuuhei!? 'The _hell_ did they do to yer face?”

“Hm? Oh, nah, I’s workin’ _with_ the bimbos. Paid me pretty handsomely too. I s’pose some of my old reputation had survived in the Downtown-” Seeing Rangiku’s flaming eyes stopped him mid-sentence.

“We’ll discuss what a _stupid_ idea that was later on. Why didn’t ya swing by my place afterwards? I coulda driven ya to the hospital- and my husband _is_ a cop, y’know. Ya could’ve tried to get the guy arrested- actually that’s a good point…” her expression changed into one of more interest than anger, “If they didn’ do that to ya, then who did?”

Shuuhei shrugged, “Dunno. One of Doc Ishida’s lackies I s’pose. ‘E was there on the Doc’s business. ‘S’why I couldn’ go to the hospital. And, no offense Rangiku, but Gin ain’t exactly a model cop to say the least. Nah, I don’ mind he’s gotten away, really- he was pretty damn handy with a shiv. Seemed a little young though…”

“’Ang on…” A trembling voice interrupted them from the desk next to Rangiku’s, “D-did he ‘ave a weirdly pale face? Black hair, glasses… wearin’ some expensive suit?”  
Shuuhei gaped at the man, “Yeah- tha’s him ‘xactly! How’d’ya know that, Omaeda?”

Omaeda clapped his hands over his shaking lips to stifle a shriek, and squeaked in a muffled voice:

“You idiot! That’s Uryuu Ishida!”

“U-Uryuu… _Ishida!?_ ”

“Doc Ishida’s _son!_ ” Omaeda clapped his abnormally large hands to his temples in panic, “I know ‘im from the casino- he’s always hangin’ ‘round the poker table… You been fightin’ with Doc Ishida’s son!”

Shuuhei paled, and he groaned. “The bastard stole my knife… If ‘e’s that close to Doc Ishida then there’s no way I’m gettin’ it back now!”

“I really think tha’s the least ‘a yer problems, Shuuhei.” Rangiku growled at him. “The Ishidas are _ridiculously_ powerful in this city- on par with- no, _above_ the Kuchikis-”

“Would you lot _PLEASE_ keep it _DOWN!?_ ” A white-haired man sitting on the other side of the room, practically screamed at them. Despite the fact he was roughly the same age as Shuuhei, he was a great deal shorter than everyone in the room, and, much to his annoyance, was often mistaken for a child.

“…Sorry Toushirou…” The rest of the office mumbled in unison.

“Ohoh…” All heads snapped up to look at the source of the sound. A man with a long blond fringe who was leaning on the door frame with his arms folded, and an expressly smug grin on his face. _Oh damnit!_ Shuuhei swung his head back round so he was facing away from him, _it’s Izuru!_

Izuru chuckled, “Whatcha lookin’ at Shuuhei? I’s just gonna ask what all the noise was ‘bout?”

Shuuhei turned around, gradually, to glare at him. “Go to hell, Izuru.”

Izuru raised his eyebrows and sauntered into the office. “That’s not very nice…” His eyes widened just for a fraction of a second when he caught sight of the wound on Shuuhei’s face, before his face twisted into another teasing smirk, “Looks like you got yer ass handed to ya, huh Shuuhei?”

“Just a scratch.” Shuuhei snapped, squaring the other man up- which helped mend his ego a little, as he was at least a couple inches taller than the blond. “What- think you could do better?”

“I could kick yer ass any day ‘a the week, Shuuhei, you just name the time an’ place.” 

The rest of the room groaned, and Rangiku and Toshiro shared a look. _Would these two just get a room already?_

They were saved by a call from the other office- possibly the only time they were thankful to the newspaper bunch was when they rescued them from another Shuuhei/Izuru argument. Even though they were forced to share an office, the two groups had a very strong disliking for each other. Put it down to competition or whatever you want- at the end of the day, all that mattered was who funded them. In the radio station’s case, it happened to be the Kuchikis, and in the newspaper’s case it happened to be the Shihouins. That’s all it came down to. That’s all it ever came down to really.

“Izuru! Get back in here! There’s a call fer ya from the arts critic!”

Izuru leaned back from Shuuhei, and his face eased into an infuriatingly laid-back smile. “Guess I’ll be off then. My offer’s still on the table though, Shuuhei… I swear, I’ll beat ya any time.” He turned on his heels and ambled back out through the open door, leaving Shuuhei red in the face.

 _Wait- that came out a little wrong..._ Izuru realized just as he had shut the door. _But I can’t go back in… that’d just make me look pathetic-_

 _“Izuru!_ Are ya comin’ or not!?”

He slapped himself lightly on his cheeks and continued into his own office. “Sorry Soi Fon, I’m just comin’.”

Soi Fon glowered at him as he entered. “If yer done flirtin’, I said there’s a call from Choujirou for ya!”

Izuru flushed a deep scarlet. “I ain’t _flirtin!_ I hate Shuuhei’s damn guts!” He looked desperately at the woman sitting behind Soi Fon, “C-c’mon Isane, _you_ can tell I ain’t flirtin’, right?”

She kept her eyes deliberately trained on her desk, and, trying as hard as she could not to laugh, managed to reply: “…W-whatever you say, Izuru. A-anyway, I- I gotta get- to- police station. Press conference.” She pressed her lips together, trying to stifle a giggle, and began gathering several notebooks and pencils into a pastel green handbag that sat on the floor next to her desk.

Izuru shook his head at the pair, and trying to retain as much dignity as possible, he eased himself into the phone booth at the back of the office. “Yeah Choujirou? It’s me.”  
“Mr. Kira! I know you normally don’t expect more than a review, but I just had to let you know: there is an _incredible_ Dixieland group in town at the moment! You have _got_ to try and book at least a few of them for an interview at some point! The alto sax seems like he’d be a good choice, but I don’t know… the guitarist seemed a pretty interesting type-”  
“Awright, awright- slow down! ‘They at the Shihouin last night then?”

“Yes, that’s right! I’ve gone into more detail in my review, but you know how bad the postal service can be in this city- I just thought I’d let you know now, before any other ah- ‘groups’ get a chance to interview them first!” He hadn’t specified which ‘groups’ these were, but Izuru took it to mean Shuuhei and the radio bunch.  
“Thanks for the tip, Choujirou- I’ll be sure to swing by the club later.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Kira. Well, until next time!” And Izuru heard the click of the receiver being hung up on the other end.

Stepping out of the booth, he called out to a girl with black hair tied in a Chinese bun who was sorting frantically through various letters and papers strewn over her desk: “Momo, you can give half of those to me- I have a feeling I won’t be needin’ to search for a top story today.”

“Huh? You sure, Izuru?”

“Definitely.” Izuru smiled to himself as he scooped up the papers, and carried them over to his own desk. _The last time Choujirou was this excited about a Jazz group it was Ben Bernie and ‘is orchestra. So there’s no way I’m lettin’ Shuuhei get ‘is hands on them ‘fore me. What a perfect time to be on the Shihouin bench._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I've got a weeks break from exams, so I had some time to write- thanks for reading! Just a few brief notes this time:
> 
> About Shuuhei: I don't know how popular facial tattoos were in the 1920s, but I'm guessing not very, so let's just say he didn't have any marks or tattoos on his face before Uryuu cut him.  
> Second, I'm not sure how common-knowledge this is, so this may be completely obvious, but Dixieland Jazz is a style that originated in New Orleans, and involves a lead (A saxophone, trumpet, or cornet usually) who plays the tune, and a band or orchestra improvising around them- and it seemed pretty appropriate to give Shinji the lead.  
> 10 dollars in 1928 is equivalent to about 136 dollars in today's money.   
> And lastly, I just want to clear this up in case of any possible plot holes in the future: Ichigo doesn't know about the Karakura group, he just knows Tatsuki. I promise that's relevant.
> 
> Again, leave a comment or kudos if you'd like, and my exams are finally gonna come to an end pretty soon as well, so I guess you can expect more regular updates in the near future!


	3. Unwelcome Sunlight

**Earlier that day**

In an apartment just across the street from the city’s general hospital, Uryuu Ishida had managed to get a few decent hours sleep, despite the events of the night before. After returning home, he had wrapped a bandage around his damaged wrist. It wasn’t badly wounded by any means, just stung a little at most.

What was far more painful was his particularly unwanted wake up call.

“Care to explain to me what _exactly_ took you so long last night?”

Uryuu groaned as he stirred gradually. “Mm… What?”

His bedroom door was slammed shut with a bang, and he jolted upright, his hand searching his nightstand desperately for his glasses. He eventually found them, hastily shoved them over face- and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“You heard me.”

Ryuuken was standing at the foot of his bed, glowering at him. Uryuu’s jaw twitched and his words came out sharp and irritated.

“What are you implying, Ryuuken?”

His father’s scowl turned into a sneer, “Merely that, after all these years I had thought this sort of thing was child’s play to you.”

“Not my fault. One of them was handy with a knife is all. _Yes_ \- before you get at me, yes I marked him. Left cheek to the bridge of his nose. Stop treating me like an amateur.”

“Then stop acting like one. You know better than to underestimate these types of people.”

Uryuu glared at him and exhaled through his nose, annoyed. “Do you have a reason to be in here, or did you come just to mock me?” He folded his arms across his chest. The left sleeve of his nightshirt rode up slightly, revealing the bandage he’d wrapped around his wrist.

“The money, Uryuu.”

The boy ran a hand through his raven hair- his fringe now hanging beside his right eye. “Jacket pocket.”

“ _Which_ jacket?”

Uryuu gave him a look. “Over the dresser.”

Ryuuken walked over, and removed the bills from the inside pocket of the jacket. _Hm… exact change…_ Uryuu turned his head away and gazed at the few rays of sunlight streaking through the crack be-tween his curtains, dust blowing noiselessly. 

“I bumped into Isshin, by the way.” He murmured, casually.

Ryuuken nearly dropped the bills in shock. “D-did anyone _see_ you?!”

Uryuu swung his head back around to face him, and frowned in confusion, “No… does it matter?”

“ _Yes_ it matters… Uryuu- Look,” Ryuuken moved his hand under his glasses to rub his eyes, “We are one of the few neutral parties in the city that hold any power. The second we tip that balance-”

“- The whole city breaks down into civil war, yes I _know_ , Ryuuken, but,” Uryuu cocked his head to one side, “What does that have to do with Isshin?”

Ryuuken froze for a moment, but his eyes went cold, and his words were curt. “You don’t need to know. You just need to avoid him, alright?” And he turned abruptly, and strode out of the bedroom, Uryuu calling after him in frustration:

“What the hell do you-?”

He stopped, mid-sentence. _Damn_ him… There’s no way to get him to say what he doesn’t want to… Uryuu resigned himself to being in the unknown, and yawned. He glanced at the watch that lay on his nightstand: Half past seven in the morning. _Why the hell did he wake me up so early? Class doesn’t start for another three hours…_

He didn’t go to school. He’d dropped out at age fourteen- said he didn’t need teachers to tell him how to learn anymore. He really was more than capable of teaching himself- which he did to great effect. He was ruthlessly time-aware as well- he hadn’t skipped ‘class’ at all in the past three years.

For now however, all he wanted to do was get enough sleep to function like a normal human being.

 

***

 

“Jesus fuckin’ _Christ_ , Kisuke!”

The shout came from the open door way- not that there was a door to close it, and Kisuke stopped straightening his tie to look at its source.

“Oh, it’s you Shinji. What have I done _this_ time?”

Shinji was livid, considerably pink in the face and with noticeable black bags under his eyes. Kisuke blinked at him, and asked, innocently, “Are you feeling ok, Shinji?”

Shinji took slow deliberate steps towards him. His voice was shaking a little. “I have slept on _street-corners_ more comfortable than that mattress!” He was staring daggers. “Do I _look_ o-fuckin’-k to _you_ , huh? You expect me to go on stage lookin’ like this?”

He wasn’t kidding. The motel was in the far south of the city down town, surrounded by slums and buildings that may once have been shops, but were now piles of broken bricks and shattered glass.

Kisuke recoiled slightly away from him. The shorter man appeared to be towering above him. Love’s amused voice came from across the room. “I’m gonna have to agree with ‘im, Kisuke. I swear to ya, my feet were hangin’ off of the end ‘a the bed.”

Kisuke’s eyes flickered desperately between the pair, looking like cornered prey. “In- in my defense, we don’t exactly have the budget for a five-star hotel, so… this is all… I… could… afford…” His voice got quieter as the fire in Shinji’s eyes seemed to burn more and more intensely. 

“You jus’ better be glad I ain’t in the same room as you’s.” His words were bitter. Then he looked up in thought, suddenly. “Then again… you best be glad you ain’t sharin’ with Hachigen either… guy sounds like a tuba in ‘is sleep too.”

Kisuke stifled a chuckle, “Well then, you should be glad you’re not sharing with Rose- I just barely had time in the bathroom to shave this morning.” 

Shinji peered at Kisuke’s quite clearly unshaven jaw, “Yeah… right… shave…”

An offended cry came from said bathroom, “I- I can _hear_ you, Kisuke!”

“… I do apologise, Rose.”

Shinji rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what I actually came to say was: we’re meetin’ in the rec. Room in five minutes, so ya better get a move on.”

Kisuke nodded, “Sure. You hear that, Rose?”

Rose stormed angrily out of the bathroom. He looked affronted. “ _Yes_ , thank you Kisuke.”

Kisuke smiled sweetly at him, before following Shinji out of the room. The corridor was just as dingy as the bedroom had been- lightbulbs hanging, exposed, from the ceiling; cracks and rivets running through the skirting board and up through the wallpaper. There was a definite stench of… something dying in the air. Kisuke grimaced, praying it was only a rat and not- well, nothing bigger.

They arrived at the rec. Room to find most of the band already waiting- save for Love, Rose and Lisa. They had all been chatting relatively happily until Kisuke walked in. He was fixed with a similar glare to Shinji’s from every member. _Why did I volunteer to find accommodation…?_ He shook his head and tried to ignore the multiple pairs of eyes burning into him from every angle. After he sat down on a splintering wooden box that was being used as a make shift seat, the others continued their conversations, albeit stiffer than before- and with the occasional shooting glance in his general direction.

The group was finally joined by the remaining three members a few minutes later- Rose was still complaining about the quality of the facilities. “How am I supposed to draw artistic inspiration from a cock-roach? _How_ , Love?”

Love ignored him. “So Shinji, why’d’ya call this meetin’?”

Shinji stood up and addressed the band. “Mainly to discuss our set for tomorrow evenin’. But first…” His eyes flicked pointedly at Kisuke. “I believe we all have sommin’ to say to Mr. Travel Agent over here.”

Kisuke groaned. He’d hoped that issue had been settled. Swallowing, he began, “I don’t know what you want me to say… I swear to you all, this is the only place we can afford at the moment. Sure, may-be after a few more weeks when the revenue starts-”

“A FEW MORE WEEKS?” A shout of that pitch could only have come from Hiyori.

Kisuke turned to face her with a feverish look on his face, “I’m afraid so. Money doesn’t-”

“If I may interject…” Hachigen raised a finger, and all turned to him. He didn’t interrupt too often. “Surely, we could ask to stay at the Shihouin club?”

This seemed a very appealing idea to the majority of the room, but:

“We can’t do _that!_ ” Kisuke cried out, a little too hastily. The others blinked at him, a little alienated by his sudden outburst. He clarified, quickly, “We- we’ve only just met them, we couldn’t _possibly_ impose ourselves-”

“We’ve ‘only just met them’? So what?” Hiyori raised an eyebrow at him, a diabolical glint to her smile. “Didn’ stop you nearly tellin’ Yoruichi yer ‘deep dark secret’ just last night…”

_Oh shit. How long was she standing there?_

Shinji was positively gaping at him. “You- you… what?”

Kisuke stared decisively at his feet, trying to hide the beads of sweat forming on his forehead with his fedora- and, for once, being thankful of the motel’s poor lighting. “I- I wasn’t actually _going-_ ”

“And that’s not all!” Hiyori was smirking triumphantly. 

_Too long. TOO LONG._

“In fact, I would say you was positively _flirtin’!_ ”

A horrible silence descended upon the room. Kisuke prayed someone would break it with a change of subject- but he knew with this bunch, that was far too much too hope for.

“So~ then, Kisuke…” Shinji grinned maniacally, “Reckon you could get us a deal? I might even let this entire motel incident be forgotten…”

“Could ya really get yer sweetheart to give us a few rooms?” Piped up Mashiro.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Kisuke.” Lisa drawled monotonously, eyes firmly rooted to the novel she was reading, “The Shihouin Princess truly is beautiful, isn’t she?”

Trying as hard as he could to keep his voice casual, Kisuke retorted, “M-Miss Yoruichi is not my sweetheart- like I said, I- i’ve only ever spoken to her once, and-” He resigned himself to his fate. “I _suppose_ I could ask…”

Kensei clapped him on the shoulder, “’Atta guy, Kisuke. ‘Knew we could count on you!”

Kisuke groaned and let his face sink into his hands. Satisfied that the pianist had paid his debt, Shinji cleared his throat and turned once again to the rest of the room.

“So! About our set…”

 

***

 

“Psh, guy sounds like a grade-A asshole if you ask me.” Ichigo snorted, digging into the bread roll he was calling breakfast for the day.

“Nah- I think you’s would get along pretty well…” His father replied, smiling knowingly. Ichigo looked indignantly at him and raised an eyebrow. “What? Yer more similar than you’d think…”

“I don’t think we could be more different,” The boy huffed and took another bite out of the roll, “’E’s some rich boy-genius who’s never ‘adda work a proper day in ‘is life, and I’m stuck in some slum busting a gut for a quarter or two.”

Isshin sighed, exasperated, “Not what I meant… look- yer both stubborn as anythin’, got ragin’ addictions that need addressin’ and can’t turn away from a good fight.”

“ _Addictions?_ ”

“I suppose in your case… the fightin’ _is_ the addiction....” Isshin’s face was dead straight.

“Ho… He’s got ya there, kiddo.”

The boy snapped his head up to glare at the speaker, “Thanks for that, Kukkaku.”

She only laughed, “Yer very welcome, little cousin!”

_Goddamit…_ Ichigo grimaced as he swung his head back round to focus intently on his food, _Why couldn’ she ‘a left ‘stead a Kaien…_

Kukkaku’s jaw twitched, “I know what ya _thinkin’_ , kid- an’ that ain’ a name you should be even _contimplatin’_ in this house…”

Ichigo snapped. He was sick and tired of pretending Kaien didn’t exist. He wanted to know why, and the only way to get any information out of this family was to build the pressure behind the fault. “Oh really? So I guess it’d be _inappropriate_ fer me to mention that I saw ‘im jus’ yesterday.” He sneered at the shocked faces from his father and cousin, “Yeah, tha’s right. ‘E has a kid now too. A boy, thanks fer askin’. An’ ya know what? He even-” 

“That’s enough!” Kukkaku was boiling red, “Don’ go talkin’ ‘bout my _ex_ -brother. He-”

“S’ok, Kukkaku.” Isshin interrupted quietly. “S’ok…”

The rage from her face disappeared completely, and was replaced with something that could even have been remorse. “Unc-”

“He’s old enough. I can’t guarantee he’ll understand but- he’s old enough at least to know.” He finished, calmly. Kukkaku pushed herself up from the table, muttering something disapproving, and excused herself from the room.

“… Know what, Dad?” Ichigo spoke slowly, concerned that he may have gone too far.

“About Kaien ‘a course. About why he- why he felt he ‘adda leave us. Leave me.” A fresh wave of guilt had washed over the man, and he gripped the glass in his hand tightly. Ichigo remained silent, not sure what to say. Isshin took a few slow, deliberate sips of the water in his glass, and eventually continued, “Do you… remember anything ‘bout yer sisters?”

Ichigo’s eyes widened, astonished. _That_ subject was another taboo. He swallowed and tried to keep his voice from cracking, “… Not a lot. They, uh, died when they was four, right? That September… when we was first out on the street.”

“s’what I told you, didn’ I…” Isshin smiled, meekly, forcing himself to meet his son’s eyes. 

“… I lied.”

 

***

 

11:00 AM. That was what the clock on her bedside table was telling her. Yoruichi groaned and pulled her blankets over her ears, desperately trying to blot out the increasingly loud voices coming from the club below. Thursday was one of her few days off- and she made a point of sleeping in as late as possible. The voices themselves seemed only vaguely familiar to her, so she paid them no real attention, and focused instead on trying to get back to sleep- despite the sunbeams now streaming into the room through the gaps in her shutters.

Eventually, however, the combination of the noise and the seemingly insistent sun forced her to sit herself up with a groan, and grab a dressing gown from the doorknob of her wardrobe. She moved, body still heavy with sleep, over to the dresser opposite her bed, and ran a comb lazily through her hair- just enough to make herself look presentable, and pushed open her bedroom door.

Moving towards the source of the noise, the voices themselves became more distinguished, and they were definitely ones she recognized. She could make out a few bits of what was being said:

“… Yer decision… Don’t go ropin’ me into this…” 

“Go to hell _Shinji!_ ”

_Shinji? Oh. That’s who they were_. Yoruichi gave an exasperated sigh. What should she honestly have expected? She made her way through the black-brick halls of the club to their dressing room- something she felt she would be doing a lot more often in the future.

Pushing open the door, she stuck her head inside to see the trumpet player, Hiyori, standing over the much taller Shinji and grasping his shirt collar in a balled fist. She was screaming at deafening volumes into his face and he was doing little to resist. His eyes had the look of a man who had been through this far too many times to pay it much attention. His expression changed dramatically when he caught sight of Yoruichi and hurriedly tried to straighten himself up.

“Y-Yoruichi! So good to see ya again-”

“SHINJI! Don’t think I’m done wit’ ya yet!” Hiyori gave her the briefest of glances, “Oh. Hello.” She was about to resume her yelling when a gear seemed to switch in her brain and instead, she slowly turned her attention to Kisuke, who was standing at the back of the room with Love and Rose. “Oi! Kisuke~!”

Visibly relieved to see her convictions being directed elsewhere, Shinji stood up and addressed Yoruichi, face splitting into a broad grin. “Oh, yeah! Kisuke had something to ask you~”

The man in question looked between Hiyori’s devilish grin and Yoruichi and sighed. “Right, yes- yes, I get it.” He pushed himself away from the wall and went over to the door, ignoring the smirking faces of the rest of the group. _Christ, how_ old _are they again?_

He closed the dressing room door behind himself and Yoruichi and glanced apologetically at her. “I-I’m sorry about them…”

“What was _that_ all about?” She asked, intrigued.

Kisuke shook his head and stared back down at his fiddling hands.

“So… What was it you had to ask me?” She cocked her head to one side.

“Oh- right… Um…” She hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even more anxious than before. _Holy crap... what the hell is he about to-?_

“Would- would it be ok if we- uh, the _Visored_ that is, could sleep somewhere in the club?” He forced himself to look her in the eye.

She blinked. _That’s… it?_

“Uh, sure. Just so long as you don’t mind a few knives pressed to yer throats every now an’ again.” She added, jokingly. Kisuke stared blankly in response. “… For- for information? On me? The Shihoins? No? Nothing?” He squinted a little in confusion. “You- you ain’t never heard ‘a the Kuchikis?”

“The who now?”

Yoruichi gaped at him. “Seriously?”

Kisuke racked his memory, “Should I have? Are they some- some sort of rival jazz group?”

She burst out laughing. “Oh my _god…_ ” Steadying herself, she finished: “I don’t suppose ya got any plans right now, do ya?”

A little taken aback by her forwardness, he tried to respond as coolly as he could. “Not anymore…”

Yoruichi rolled her eyes. _What an ego. You wouldn’t think it._ “I mean, it’s gonna take a long while to explain all this Kuchiki business to ya. A _long_ while.”

“O-oh.” He replied, trying to maintain an air of disinterest, ego visibly deflated.

“Besides… About what you said last night.” 

His head snapped up in mild panic, and his fidgeting seemed to go into overdrive. _Oh shit. Am I going to have to tell her I can’t-?_

“I’d like to take ya up on it.”

He paused. “… What?”

“You asked if I’d like to find out what yer like. I’m sayin’ I accept.” She gave her best disarming smile.

“W-well, sure. I’d like that.” He gave her a dopey grin in response.

Nodding, she turned to go back down the hallway to her own room. “Well, you can tell yer group yer welcome to stay as long as ya like. Spare rooms are all on the third floor. If ya need any help, ask Tessai- He’s one of the club waiters. And uh, just give me a few minutes to get changed and I’ll meet ya out front, sound good?”

“Sure. See you then~” He had that infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk on his face again, as he casually, hands in pockets, swung back round to his dressing room.

Closing the door quietly behind himself, he was startled to see every single member’s attention directed solely to him. Two cups scattered behind the door told him someone had at least attempted to listen in on his conversation. Looking up at the equally eager expressions of Hiyori and Shinji, it wasn’t exactly hard to guess who.

“Yes, yes… we can stay…” Kisuke waved them off, deciding to leave off the part about knives being pressed to their throats. He didn’t think Yoruichi had been joking. “Rooms are on the third floor apparently. We’re to ask someone named Tessai if we need directions or help moving our stuff. One of the waiting staff, she said.”

“Come _off_ it, Kisuke…” Shinji sauntered up to him, a knowing grin on his face, “You ‘an I both know that ain’t what we wanna know…”

Kisuke shrugged, nonchalantly, attempting to get back to his belongings at the end of the room. “Why don’t _you_ tell _me_ what I know then, Shinji?” He muttered under his breath. This was going to be the longest few minutes of his life.

 

*** 

 

“You go here often, then?” Kisuke inquired, setting down in a booth next to the counter. The coffee shop was almost directly opposite the Shihoin, and seemed to be the only one of its kind in the bustling entertainment district- which was stocked full of clubs and theatres of every kind. On the far corner stood a huge casino- its neon signs dulled in the day-light. The shop itself was a cozy, family-run place with huge glass panels for its front wall- so Yoruichi had insisted they sit as far away from the window as possible. (“Nothin’ personal- jus’ don’ need any journalists blinding me with camera flashes every second ‘a the day.”)

“Nah, not particularly. I don’ get much time off- what with the shows and helpin’ out with my father’s business.” She caught sight of his intrigued glance and took the hint to continue. “He has his fingers in more than a few pies to say the least. What you lots wanna worry ‘bout though,” She paused, taking a sip from the coffee mug, “Is his dealings with the Kuchikis.”

“Yes, you uh- you still haven’t told me exactly who these ‘Kuchikis’ are-”

“Be a little patient won’tcha? I’m getting’ to that, I swear.” She set her mug down on the checkered tablecloth and began. “Right. So. The Kuchikis are effectively my family’s…” She clicked the fingers on her right hand, searching for an appropriate word, “… Entrepreneurial rivals. ‘Though that’s puttin’ it ve~ry politely. Fact is, we’ve been at each other’s throats- speakin’ both metaphorically an’ physically here- for decades, and one way or another, most ‘a the city’s gotten ‘emselves involved. Don’ get me wrong- they don’ all wind up with their throats cut. Otherwise we wouldn’t have no city left. Sometimes it’s good for ‘em. Take the Ishidas for instance.”

“The Ishidas?”

“… Holy crap, you guys know _nothin’_ ‘bout this city, do ya?” Yoruichi sighed, “Ok look- the Ishidas run the city’s general hospital- but that’s not important right now.

“What’s important is that ol’ Ryuuken Ishida- the hospital’s current director- has found himself in incredibly favourable circumstances for the past 7 years or so. By outlawin’ alcohol, our government presented him with the greatest business opportunity of his life. Let’s just say his medical dealings weren’t never really _legal_ in the first place- guy has a lot of underground- and overseas- connections. Allowed ‘im to get his hands on poison like alcohol dirt cheap. ‘Course that’s just the tip of a whole-great-shady-mess-of-an iceberg for _that_ family. Honestly, the less you know about _them_ the better.”

“He supplies… your club, then? Or rather, the space under your club.” Kisuke interrupted. He looked so deep in thought, she wasn’t sure if he knew he’d spoken out loud.

“… So you don’ know nothin’ ‘bout this city whatsoevers, an’ yet ya still heard ‘a the Underside? I oughtta tell my old man. We could celebrate.”

“No offense- I’d no idea that was its name. And I didn’t know it existed until you confirmed my suspicions just now.”

It was Yoruichi’s turn to look at him blankly. “So yer- yer sayin’ you could _work out-_ ”

“Why else would you be telling me about this guy? Am I to suppose he supplies the Kuchiki’s speakeasy as well?”

“…Try speakeas _ies_ \- plural.”

“I see… so… this is just the latest play in your family’s business rivalry, am I right?”

She peered at him, amused. “Dead on.” He smiled into his coffee mug. _Probably so goddamn proud of himself…_ Time to shake him up a bit.

“So go on then, Kisuke. I’ve done my bit. Now it’s time to hear a little about you.” She leaned across the table a little, a smirk playing on her lips.

Keeping his eyes trained on the mug in front of him, he responded as evenly as he could. “On the contrary, Miss Yoruichi- you have just spent the past few minutes telling me all about your _family_ \- I’m afraid I still know next to nothing about _you…_ ”

She rolled her eyes at him. “c’mon… yer the one that _offered…_ ”

He was still hiding the entire lower half of his face with his coffee mug, but she could hear the grin in his voice, “Well, if you’re that insistent…”

Folding her arms across her chest, she nodded at him to continue.

He swallowed, apparently nervous again, and set his mug back down on the table. “I’m afraid there’s not really a lot to tell… you were right, yesterday- we’ve come in from New Orleans."

"An' you been livin' in New Orleans ya whole life?"

"That's... a difficult question to answer."

"... Don't feel like going into more detail?" He shook his head, looking uncomfortable. "... Well all right then. Carry on."

"All of us were living on the same street and, well, we thought we’d give the jazz scene a shot. Everyone else in the city seemed to be doing the same.”

“How long ago didja start?”

“Maybe… eight or nine years? We only played in a few local clubs over there, though. Nothing like yours.”

She chuckled, “No wonder no-one’s ever ‘eard of ya. What made ya decide to come over here then?”

“Kensei has relatives in the city I think. And we all needed a change of scenery.” He began fiddling with the mug in front of him, “So uh, there you have it. Nothing interesting at all.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Ok… but you still ain’t barely told me a thing ‘bout yerself. Just about yer group.”

“… Then aren’t we, now, equally at fault?” He gave her a wry smile.

Yoruichi shook her head at him and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If there was an award… for worming yer way out of things… I’m fairly certain you’d win it every year.”

Kisuke snorted, “I’m going to take that as a compliment, Miss Yoruichi…”

 

***

 

“While we cannot confirm the culprits, we are now certain that a pattern between the attacks is emerging.” The ancient Police Chief continued, thoughtfully, looking over the sea of reporters in front of him, all scribbling down frantic words into their notebooks like there was no tomorrow. He sighed impatiently as another ten or so hands shot up. This was gonna be a lo~ng day. To be completely honest, he couldn’t quite understand the particular interest the various attacks in down town had attracted over the past couple months- in his opinion, they were nothing out of the ordinary- and the men involved probably got what was coming to them. None of them had died either, so it wasn’t as if there was a murderous sociopath on the loose. Resignedly, he gestured to a female reporter sitting near the front of the auditorium. “Yes, you gotta question, ma’am?”

The reporter stood up, and the Chief was a little startled to see how tall she was. She spoke clearly, and concisely: “Yes, Chief Yamamoto- with regards to this ‘pattern’- could you perhaps give our readers some more information?”

The Chief paused, and exhaled slowly. “… There have been no deaths so far. All of the victims have merely been rendered unconscious. The attacks always seem to occur late at night in the down town area. And the victims complain of being robbed- not only of money, but of any ah, ‘bespoke’ weaponry- particularly knives. One victim is always found with highly illegal substances, and yet not a single one has volunteered information on where exactly they received it from. As such, we are led to believe the attacks are not drug or alcohol related.”

Isane nodded, and sat back down onto the bench, already writing frantically. _I do hope I can still read this chicken-scratch when I get round to writing the article…_

An officer standing behind the Chief was muttering furiously to himself. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and he was gritting his teeth so tightly the veins in his ghostly pale neck could have popped at any second. “ _Stupid old man… it’s the Ishidas…of course it’s the Ishidas… why the hell aren’t we taking any action against them? They’re no good- no good at all… shady as anything… sell you short to make a quick buck… this force is made up of cowards… cowards and drunkards…_ ”

Not one of the other offices seemed to be paying this man any mind. _Oh man... There goes Officer Mayuri again..._ seemed to be the general consensus. For one thing, he was a known addict- and had been for a few too many years. Lord only knows how the man hadn’t died, but his common sense was surely gone. The only thing that kept him on the force was his unparalleled analytical ability. Insane, maybe. But a genius none the less.

Even if they did believe him, none had the nerve to go openly accusing the Ishidas. Not unless they wanted to be the one of the victims in next week’s assignment.

The Chief’s answer seemed to satisfy the majority of the hands that had been waving, and the Chief decided that he’d had enough. “No further questions, please- we must get back to our investigation.” He stepped back from his podium and made his way off the stage, ignoring the growing maelstrom of noise behind him. He never understood that- why, as soon as he declared he was leaving, the reporters would suddenly realise they needed to ask a thousand more questions than they had just a moment before. _Ah well, never mind them._

Back in the auditorium, the journalists were all beginning to file out. Isane ignored the movement around her and remained in her seat, chewing on the end of her pencil thoughtfully, drumming her thumb on the scrawls in front of her, pondering a few titles for the article. _Knives… Blades… Sharp-_

“Oh? Is that Miss Kotetsu?”

She snapped out of her trance and glanced up at the two officers in front of her, her face splitting into a grin in recognition. “Jushiro… Shunsui… How’ve you been?”

Shunsui laughed and clapped her on the shoulder, “Eh, so-so… why’ve ya been so outta touch, huh? We ain’t spoken to any ‘a yer bunch for ages! Whyn’t ya come swing by the Shihouin no more?” There’s the reason the cops knew her. The Shihouin. Their camp was a particularly close bunch- Katsuo made sure of that. If everybody knows everybody then they all spot the spy.

“Got no time- unlike you buncha slackers.” She giggled, shaking her head.

Shunsui seemed offended, “ _Slackers_? I’ll have you know-”

“Actually, Shunsui, she’s got a point…” Jushiro raised an eyebrow, “Remind me of the last time you actually filed a report?” 

Shunsui looked desperately between the two and sighed. “My own love, selling me out to the press.” He spoke with just a hint of an Italian accent.

“If we was gonna destroy yer career I’m sure we could think ‘a somethin’ a little more definitive than _that_ , Shunsui…” Isane interjected, looking pointedly between the pair. She collected her various notes into her handbag. “Anyways, I best be getting’ back- article won’t write itself.”

Jushiro nodded, “Ah well- good luck with that. Try and refrain from ruining his career won’t you?”

“’Course. Wouldn’ dream of it.” She stood up from the bench and turned towards the doors at the back of the hall.

Shunsui groaned, “Anyway… don’t suppose any of you’s lot will be comin’ by the club tonight?”

Isane paused and swung her head back round. “Actually- I think Izuru is gonna come by later-”

“Izuru? Wow, I thought that guy didn’t know how to have fun-”

“- For business.” Isane finished, “Sorry to disappoint.” She gave the pair a final wave, and continued up the steps to the back of the auditorium.

“… So that’s our evening plans then?” Jushiro gave an accusing look.

“What? You objectin’?”

“Of course not. We haven’t been in a while… it’d be good to talk to Katsuo again.”

“Aw come on… you don’t know how to ‘ave fun neither…”

Jushiro chuckled and pulled the other man by the wrist back towards the stage exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long!! Life's been... happening, y'know? Anyway, if you enjoyed it and you wanna leave a comment/review or kudos then that would be greatly appreciated!!
> 
> P.S I can't apologise enough for the Shiba/Kurosaki family's situation at the moment it's uh... not pretty to say the least.


	4. Hidden

**17th of June 1921**

“I’m home!” Kaien called, as he pushed the front door- or rather, the large piece of driftwood they used as a front door- shut behind him. He seemed puzzled at the lack of response, and so tried again-  
“Hello? Anyone here? C’mon… I’m not that la-” He stopped suddenly when he came into their make-shift kitchen. His uncle and sister were sitting opposite each other; silent and solemn. They gave him only the briefest of glances when he pulled up a box to sit down with them, setting his hat and scarf on the table between them.  
“Hey now… what’s goin’ on? Someone die or somethin’?” His voice was fast losing its joking tone. The twins had been pretty undernourished for a while now, and a death or two was not a far off possibility.  
“Kaien… I…” Isshin began slowly, seemingly unsure of exactly what to say, “I spoke to the Doc earlier…”  
“Doc Ishida? W-wow Isshin, you sure do live the daredevil life, huh…” Kaien laughed, nervously. The other’s faces remained unchanged. “Seriously, yer scarin’ me. What’s going on? What the hell were ya speaking to Doc Ishida about?” The panic in his voice was rising.  
Isshin looked uncomfortable, refusing to meet his nephew’s eyes, “… The twins. He- He gave me a name of a… a group. People who could… take care of ‘em properly, y’know?”  
“What the _heck_ are ya talkin’ about?” Kaien was indignant, “ _We_ are a group ‘a people who can take care of ‘em! I just got a new job and all- we even changed our freakin’ _names_ so those damn Kuchiki’s wouldn’t find us no more- what the heck would ya need a group like _that_ fer?!”  
“Oh would you give it a _fuckin’ rest_?” Kuukaku slammed her fist on the table, straining to keep her expression under control, “Get with the times, Kaien. I love those kids just as much as you do- and that’s why I _know_ we gotta give ‘em up.”  
Kaien pushed himself back from the table, and stood facing away from them, massaging his temples with both hands. “… I don’ believe this. I _can’t_. Yer a bunch ‘a cowards, that’s what you are. I ain’t got no time for people like you.” He dropped his hands to his sides, and retrieved his hat and scarf from the table.  
“Kaien. Think about what yer doin’.” Isshin spoke calmly, eyes fixed on his hands.  
Kuukaku was not so subdued. “The _fuck_ are you doin’, huh Kaien? Who’s the fuckin’ coward _now_?”  
Kaien stopped, and stated matter-of-factly, “There are kids upstairs, Kuukaku. You oughtta watch what ya say.” Before, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat, and walking out into the cool night air, the wood squeaking on its rusted hinges behind him.

**11th of September 1928**

An uneasy silence settled over the room, as Isshin finished the story of Kaien’s dramatic departure from their lives. Kukkaku, who had been listening from behind the door, shook her head once more and made her way up to her room. _Bad idea, Isshin. Very bad._ On the way, she passed another boy of a similar age to Ichigo, looking mildly annoyed.  
“What’s going on, sis? What’s the shoutin’ fer?”  
She shook her head. “Best you leave ‘em alone for the moment, Ganju.”  
Ichigo sat, deep in thought, digesting this heap of unbelievable truths his father had just dumped on him. Where to even begin? Was Kaien right to leave? Would he have done the same? What made his father suddenly decide to let him in on this great family secret? He shook himself. First thing’s first.  
“So… you’re telling me… the twins, they’re… alive?” He raised his head, seeking his father’s eyes.  
Isshin looked genuinely surprised at his son. _This is what you focus on? What a great kid._ “If Doc Ishida says somethin’ can happen, it’ll happen. I’m positive that group took care of ‘em.”  
Ichigo nodded in acknowledgement, and a thought struck him suddenly: “So… you ever tried… lookin’ for ‘em?”  
“No.”  
The boy was taken aback at how directly the answer had come. “W-why not? All four of us are workin’ now- we’d be able to support ‘em for sure-”  
Isshin exhaled unevenly, “That’s not… why I’ve never looked for ‘em. I doubt they even remember me, and if they’ve found some friends I’d hate to take ‘em away-”  
“I can’t believe that.” The chair screeched along the floor as he stood up, “There’s somethin’ else, isn’t there? Somethin’ you ain’t told me yet?”  
His father’s expression was motionless. “Don’ ask questions you ain’ prepared to hear the answer to.”  
Ichigo shook his head, “I don’ believe this. I thought you was actually gonna treat me like an adult fer once. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m pretty fuckin’ tired.” And with that, he left his father alone, the muscles in his face still twitching slightly. Isshin breathed out heavily, resting his head in his hands, willing himself to believe that telling the truth had been the right decision.

**7:00 PM that evening, The Kuchiki Tailor’s**

Byakuya pressed his lips into a thin line, and drummed his fingers on the receiver in thought. “Are you…” He began, quietly, “… Absolutely certain?”  
“I am merely stating what I saw, and I do not believe my eyes deceived me.” Came the reply, monotonous and composed. “At approximately 8:00 yesterday evening, I did indeed see the son of the Ishida family, Uryuu Ishida, talking to a man who bore a striking resemblance to one Isshin Shiba.”  
“… Very well. I do appreciate the information.” Byakuya eventually responded, “Do keep an ear out for the 9 ‘o clock news this evening, won’t you Mr. Tsukishima?”  
“Of course, Byakuya. It has been my pleasure as always. Well then,” There was a click as the line went dead.  
He replaced the receiver and rubbed his eyes in thought. After a long and meticulous pause, he called out: “Rukia. Would you come in for a moment?”  
His door was pushed open, and she poked her head round the glass frame, “Yes, Brother?”  
“I am aware that it’s late, but would you be so kind as to find Miss Tatsuki and bring her to me?” His eyes were dangerous, and sent chills up Rukia’s spine.  
“O-of course. I’ll be as quick as possible.” She assured, closing the door as gently as she could.  
Byakuya grabbed the receiver again, and dialed. “Get me Ginrei. It’s urgent.” He practically spat, “The Ishidas may be compromised.”  
Rukia was sure she wasn’t meant to have heard this. Her eyes widened, and she pushed herself out of the shop. _Ishidas…? Oh god, Uryuu… you haven’t done anything stupid have you?_

**8:50 PM, The Shihoin Club**

“So I think that just about covers everything.” Yoruichi smiled, looking back at her ‘tour group’- the newly homed Visoreds.  
“I’d never’a guessed you could get clubs so… big!” Mashiro gaped at her surroundings, “Jeez, coming here really does put our ol’ clubs into perspective, huh Kensei?”  
He nodded in response, “Thanks for taking the time to do this, Yoruichi.”  
She shrugged, “No problem. I guess I’ll see you all later then- you got another show tonight right?”  
Shinji nodded, “Late night one. Doesn’t start ‘til 10:00-” He turned to leave with the rest of them, but stopped, “If you’d care to come watch…” He added, hopefully. Yoruichi laughed and waved him off.  
“I’ll do my best.”  
It became obvious to her that one of the company had no intentions of leaving. Ten guesses who.  
“So… that’s it?” Kisuke pondered, smugly, “I could have sworn… you mentioned something about an… Underside?”  
She shushed him quickly, ushering him to follow her. “I can’ go showin’ that to _everyone_ who walks in, alright? What if one of you’s was a cop?”  
“B-but you said it was famous- or rather _infamous_? Loads of people must know about it- cops included-”  
“Cops from _this_ city. We’ve got a nice informal understanding goin’ on. We don’ go all out fightin’ the Kuchikis, and in return, the cops don’ go stickin’ their nose into our business.”  
Kisuke snorted, “Good God, this city is a mad house.”  
Yoruichi looked indignant, “You got a problem with that?” But he simply shook his head-  
“Quite the opposite.” He muttered, a strange grin on his face. “But Miss Yoruichi, if you’re so cautious of my group, then why did you have no hesitation telling _me_?”  
She studied his expression, and answered evenly, “… If I _recall_ , I didn’t exactly tell ya. Ya figured it out for yerself-”  
“Yorui~chi!!!!” A flash of purple jumped at her, nearly knocking her to the floor, “I feel like I ain’ seen ya in forever!”  
“Urgh, Goddamit Yuushiro! Get offa me!” Yoruichi scowled at the young boy hugging her tightly, “It’s been what- three days at most?”  
Yuushiro was close to tears, “I k-know, but… but I missed ya so much!!”  
She rolled her eyes, and looked up at a bemused Kisuke, “My little brother.” She gestured to the boy, “Yuushiro Shihoin.”  
Yuushiro seemed to become suddenly aware of Kisuke’s existence, and released his sister, turning to face him, eyes wide, “Oh!! You must be one of the new guys in the band!”  
Kisuke smiled weakly in response, “That’s right. Kisuke Urahara- pleased to make your acquaintance.”  
“Ack-way-n-tence? You talk funny, Mister.” He gave a cheeky grin.  
“ _Yuushiro_!” She gave him a sharp poke in the back of the head, “Don’ be so fuckin’ rude!”  
Kisuke blinked, “Um, don’t worry about it Mr Yuushiro-”  
“MASTER YUUSHIRO! WHERE HAVE YOU GOT TO?” A booming voice called from further down the corridor, and Tessai came into view. He was visibly panicked, but a flash of relief crossed his face when he spotted the boy. “Master Yuushiro! The broadcast is imminent!”  
Yuushiro clapped a hand to his forehead. “Aw no! I lost track ‘a time!” He sprinted off down the corridor Tessai had emerged from, followed hastily by the waiter.  
Kisuke and Yoruichi both stood in silence for a few moments, staring after them, before Kisuke began:  
“… Well, your brother seems _lovely_.”  
Yoruichi gave him a tired look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender, “I’m serious! To be honest, I’d never have guessed he could be involved in such an… affair as yours.”  
“Like I said. Everyone in the city. Don’ get me wrong, he don’ enjoy it too much- well,” She swallowed, “P’raps 'enjoy' is the wrong word. I don’ think a lot of people 'enjoy' it. It ain’ that he’s naïve… I guess he prefers not to think ‘bout the consequences too much.”  
Kisuke narrowed his eyes, “And… do _you_ ‘enjoy’ it, Miss Yoruichi?”  
She focused her gaze firmly on a wall lamp next to his head, and said nothing.  
“My apologies. That was out of line.” He looked visibly concerned, but didn’t pursue it further. “That waiter… he said something about a broadcast?”  
This she was willing to answer-  
“Yeah, the city radio. News broadcast every hour. But it ain’t the news they’re so interested in…” She gave a cunning grin, “It’s the _code_.”  
His eyes visibly sparkled at the word, “What like… cryptography? That sort of code?”  
She blinked, “Uh… I assume so. And guess who the code is set by…?”  
“Ah… the Kuchikis of course…”  
She mimed shooting him, “Bang on. That’s what Yuushiro ‘n Tessai do ‘round here. Best damn code-breakers in the city, I’ll wager.”  
A sly grin spread across his face, “Well. I don’t mean to _brag_ but-”  
“Hello? Anyone in?” The call came from the entranceway. It was quiet, and contained, as if despite calling for attention, the last thing the owner wanted was to be heard.  
“Yeah! Down here!” Yoruichi called back, recognizing the voice.  
Izuru appeared around the corner of the hall, looking relieved to have found them. “Ah… Miss Shihoin! So nice to see you, and-” he stopped and looked up at Kisuke- who was decidedly taller than he was.  
“Kisuke Urahara. I play piano in a band that’s doing sets here at the moment. Pleasure.” He bowed his head slightly with a polite smile.  
Izuru’s eyes widened. “By ‘band’… do you mean to say yer part of the ‘Visoreds’?”  
“Um. Yeah.” Kisuke blinked, a little dazed. Yoruichi gave him a knowing look- _See? Good group,_ the look seemed to say.  
“Oh, this is incredible! You’re just the sort of band this city needs- fresh, talented- in fact, I came down here _specifically_ to try and get an interview-” He snapped out of his ramblings, blushing a little. “Sorry, sorry- where are my manners- Izuru Kira. From the Daily Paper. Great to meet you!”  
“Yes, um- if you’re looking for interviews I’m afraid I’m not the guy to ask to be perfectly honest…”  
Izuru looked a little crest-fallen, and Kisuke hurriedly added: “But I’m sure if you were to speak to Shinji, he’d be glad to lend you some of his time! Alto-sax… he’s a bit like our leader, I suppose. He’ll be in our dressing room at the moment- with the rest of the band.” He gave Izuru a few directions, and the reporter left, overflowing with gratitude.  
Kisuke sighed once Izuru was out of earshot, and Yoruichi sniggered at him, “Yer gonna have to get used to that.” Then she squinted, as if studying him intently.  
Kisuke stood, awkwardly, “Um… is there something on my face?”  
She shook her head, “Nah… just… something my brother said. No offense, but he was right. Ya really do talk weird.” She narrowed her eyes, “I mean, on the _surface_ ya do sound American but... you _sure_ yer from New Orleans?”  
He licked his lips, staring her down. “Yes, pretty sure.”  
She gave up. This conversation could wait, she supposed. “’Aight then.” She began walking away from him- in the same direction her brother had disappeared to. “Well? You gonna follow?”  
“But where-”  
“Do you wanna see the Underside or what?”  
Kisuke chose not to point out the double entendre.

***

The Underside itself was hidden down a damp staircase, (which in turn was behind the false back of a cupboard of microphone equipment) with a single bare lightbulb hanging above it, scarcely illuminating the white painted bricks that made up the walls. The speakeasy had the same bare walls, with tables and booths scattered seemingly at random across the floor. In the right corner closest to the door, there was a proper bar- complete with beer taps behind, and stools stacked up in front of it. A few pool tables and phone booths were in the opposite. It was still too early for the properly heavy drinkers, so only a few customers were around. Two of these customers in particular caught Kisuke’s eye- both had strangely long hair, and- more alarmingly- were both in full police gear. One was already visibly tipsy.  
“Um. Miss Yoruichi, I know you said that cops knew about this place but,” He gestured to the pair, as subtly as he could, “Isn’t that a _little,_ I don’t know, excessive?”  
Yoruichi giggled, “Don’ worry about them- they’re my Pop’s old friends. Plus, they’re the type to break the rules anyway.”  
“Huh.” Was all he could think to say.  
“Aaaand speakin’ ‘a my Pop…” Yoruichi turned to face an approaching man. He had moved so silently, Kisuke was amazed she had even noticed him.  
“Ahh… the pianist! I’ve been meanin’ to thank ya fer comin’ round and performin’ here. Been a pleasure, really. Don’ wonders fer my business- well.” He paused to grin at Yoruichi, “Not that I’ve ever had any trouble with _that_.”  
She rolled her eyes, “Thanks, Papa.”  
“Oh, no Mr Shihoin- the pleasure’s really all mine.”  
_Suck-up_ , Yoruichi mouthed at him, before addressing her father, “Oh yeah- Izuru’s here- he’s interviewing the rest of the band as we speak.”  
“Ahh… excellent!” He clapped his hands together- a great, booming sound, “I’ve been meaning to give his lot a little gift... a ‘thank you’ fer all the work they do.” He turned his head over his shoulder, scanning the room behind him for something.  
“Aha!” He exclaimed when he had located it, and hurried over to pick up a reasonably large briefcase, that was leaning against the doorframe on the far side of the room. He brought it back over to the pair, and cracked it open just enough to show them its contents. Kisuke gave a low whistle.  
“I do believe that is more liquor than I have ever seen in my _entire_ life.”  
Katsuo laughed, “What, the speakeasy scene not so big in New Orleans?”  
Kisuke smiled back, “We just tend to stick to beer.”  
He handed Yoruichi the briefcase, “You wouldn’t mind taking this to Izuru, would’ja?”  
Yoruichi took the case, “Nah. See ya ‘round, Papa.” She turned back up the stairs, with Kisuke tailing behind her, giving Katsuo a polite goodbye.  
“A ‘thank you’? What exactly do the Newspaper do for you?”  
Yoruichi looked smug, “Let’s just say the Kuchiki’s ain’t the only ones needin’ codes.”

**Meanwhile, the Shihoin Radio Booth**

The transmission ended with a few short beeps, but the pair sat in silence, absolutely still, not even reaching to remove their headphones. Yuushiro gazed wide eyes at his transcript, scrawled in his own childish handwriting. The words seemed to stare right back, like a challenge, a snarl. Defiant.  
Slowly, beside him, Tessai pulled the cans off his ears, so they rested around neck. He reached a shaking hand up to his face, and removed his steamed up glasses as well. The movement seemed to snap Yuushiro out of his trance, and he ripped the headphones off his head, almost throwing them to the desk.  
“U-uh… Mr Tessai? T-that was…” He trailed off, unsure of how to exactly express his current level of… dread? Was that the right word?  
Tessai finished cleaning his glasses on the bottom of his shirt, and replaced them. “Bad, I think is the word you’re looking for, Master Yuushiro.” He exhaled, gradually, “Very bad _indeed…_ ”

**9:30, The Streets Nearby**

Rukia pulled her scarf tighter round her face, balling her hands in the ends for warmth. She had been on the streets for hours, but her mind was still racing- _Oh God Uryuu… what the hell have you-!?_ As if she had wished him into existence, she caught sight of him, only a few feet in front of her.  
“ _URYUU!!_ ” She called out before she could stop herself. At the sound of his name, his head snapped up, and seeing her face so frantic, his brow furrowed, concerned.  
“What? What’s wro-?”  
“Have you spoken to anyone by the name of Isshin Shiba in the past day or so?” She cut in.  
He considered her, “I don’ believe so…”  
She breathed a sigh of relief, _Oh good… it’s just a misunderstanding-_  
“However-“  
_Oh no._  
“I _have_ spoken to someone by the name of Isshin Kurosaki- just last night in fact. And my father did act strange- strange for _him,_ which is sayin’ something- when I mentioned it.”  
She tried to keep her voice steady, “Is- is Isshin a _common_ name?”  
He pushed some of the hair back from his eyes, “I have no idea I’m afraid… but” He swallowed to hide the slight quiver to his voice, “Why do you ask?”  
“Because I-” then she stopped. Regardless of what she felt about this boy, just blurting out something so possibly incriminating was _bound_ to have consequences. “Just… be careful. Please.” She decided, before hurrying past him as fast as she could without slipping on the ice-covered pavement.  
He considered calling after her, but thought better of it. He understood difficult family situations like almost no other, and for her to break off in the middle of a sentence like that left him fairly certain that this was one of the even more convoluted family situations. This didn’t stop his _mind_ whirring, however. _Shiba… Kurosaki… Sound nothing like each other- could they possibly be the same person?_ He certainly didn’t know many Isshins, that was for sure. He picked up his pace, and continued on route- past the Picturehouse… The Shihoin… and finally, to the Casino.  
Rukia mentally slapped herself. _Focus. You gotta find Tatsuki. She ain’t a bad person- none ‘a them are. If they’re involved, then nothing can go seriously wrong at least._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating this for ages lmao- I have the next chapter basically all planned as well so I'll try to write it sometime this week, but then I don't think I'll be free til late March...  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story, and hey thanks for reading this chapter !  
> Leave some kudos/comments if you want~


	5. Double Agent

10.00 PM, The Kuchiki Tailors

 

“So. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, gravely, his brown eyes fixed firmly on one particular hole in his shoe. It was all he could do to keep himself from physically shaking. He had not come into contact with Byakuya directly before, and it was an experience he hoped he would never have to repeat.

“Excellent. I trust your judgement, Keigo. You may decide among yourselves who is fit for undertaking such a job as this.” His voice gave away not a trace of emotion.

Keigo nodded again, afraid his voice wouldn’t come out if he tried to use it. “T-thank you, sir.” He managed, before backing out of the room as quickly as he could. Rukia went to follow him, but Byakuya stopped her.

“One second, Rukia.”

“Yes, brother?”

He gestured for her to sit at the chair opposite his desk. “I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

She sat, warily, watching her brother closely, but his face was as impassive as porcelain.

“I have arranged a meeting with some of father’s associates for this coming Monday- concerning the events that have transpired.”

He paused, taking the time to phrase his words carefully, “You are… _close_ … with the Ishida boy, are you not?”

Rukia felt a sweat form on her forehead, “W-well I suppose so- b- but nothing… nothing like th-”

“Excellent. He trusts you.”

Rukia almost guffawed. This was very much not the cold words of warning she had expected.

“You will accompany me to the meeting. Your testimony could prove invaluable to our cause.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I _assume_ you are perfectly alright with this?”

She swallowed, “Of course, brother.”

He nodded, slightly. “Well then, you may take your leave.”

 

10.20 PM, The Karakura Base

 

Keigo practically staggered up to the door, and knocked on it distractedly. Orihime pulled it open.

“Keigo! You’re back la-” She began, cheerfully, before noticing the shell-shocked, almost fearful state of his face. “… Keigo?”

He walked slowly over to his mattress and sank down onto it, resting his chin on his knuckles. The room was silent- waiting for him to speak. The only sounds were the rattling of the corrugated iron walls and the twins snoring softly in their corner.

“Our… Our lil’ honeymoon period may soon be over.” He began, staring vacantly at nothing in particular in the middle distance.

Tatsuki narrowed her eyes, “… Whad’ya mean by that?”

“We’ve been tasked with spying on a member of the Ishida family. Uryuu Ishida. By Byakuya Kuchiki.” He stated flatly.

Tatsuki’s jaw dropped, “… Shit.” 

Keigo forced a laugh, “My thoughts exactly.” Byakuya wasn’t the type to act rashly. They all knew he must have had some pretty solid intel to give him reason to be so suspicious- to risk _spying_ on the most powerful family in the city.

Nobody spoke for a while, before Chad finally spoke up, “Who did he ask to do it?”

Keigo shrugged, “He didn’t. ‘Said it was up to us to decide.” He exhaled slowly, “I dunno where to begin thinkin’ though. Don’ know nothin’ ‘bout the guy, ‘cept what ‘e looks like.” He pulled a photograph from his trouser pocket. It was of two men- similar enough to be father and son. “Him.” He gestured to the shorter of the two.

Tatsuki squinted at the picture, and snatched it out of Keigo’s hands, “Hang on… I’ve seen this guy around. Rukia’s told me about him. One of the shop’s best customers…”

“ _Seriously_?” Keigo gaped at her. “Damn… whatever Byakuya’s got on him, ‘sgotta be pretty conclusive.”

Suddenly, there was another knock on the door. _Ah right, Mizuiro isn’t back yet either,_ Orihime thought as she pulled it open. Mizuiro entered, wearing an expression not dissimilar to Keigo’s.

Tatsuki gave a frustrated sigh, “Oh for _Christ’s sake…_ What now?!”

Mizuiro looked bemused, “’Now’? Whad’ya- mean ‘now’?” But he dismissed the thought, and instead decided it’d be better to get on with his own news. “In any case, ya not gonna believe this.” He straightened himself up, and took a deep breath. “I was just speakin’ with Katsuo Shihoin. Gave us a new spyin’ job. And ya never gonna guess who-”

Tatsuki had a dangerous look on her face. “Please, for the love of _god_ tell me it’s not Uryuu Ishida.”

“Uryuu Ishi-! Hey wait, how did you-?” Mizuiro looked even more perplexed, “What is going on?!”

Chizuru sat down, resting her head against the wall, “I think that’s sommin’ we’d _all_ like to know.”

“Damn…” Tatsuki sat down beside her, “What the hell did this kid _do_?! How’d he get both the families mad at the _same_ time?”

Orihime licked her lips, deep in thought. “I don’t think he _did_ …” She began, “It’s more likely he got _one_ of ‘em angry, and the other’s only spyin’ for safe-keepin’.”

Tatsuki considered this. “Makes sense… But that still doesn’t help us with _how_ we’re gonna spy on him.”

“I dunno ‘bout that…” said Chad, slowly, “You must know somethin’ ‘bout what he’s like… habits, traits… What’d Rukia tell ya?”

“Not too much, to be honest. ‘Said he liked to keep himself to himself for the most part. Very respectful… smart as anything… But-” She paused, “She _did_ say he had a _terrible_ ’ addiction to gambling.”

“The _casino_ …” breathed Keigo.

Tatsuki nodded. “Boom, that’s our entry point. There’s no point in sending two of us in. One person should just report to both.”

Mizuiro inhaled sharply. “That’s a _dangerous game,_ Tatsuki…” 

She ignored him. “Not much different to what we’ve been doing already. Now all’s left to decide is which one of us is gonna do it. And if ya don’ mind, I’m just gonna go ahead and say this: Orihime?”

“Huh?”

She grinned. “I think you oughtta do it.”

Orihime looked puzzled, “… Why me in particular? It sounds like this is more suited to what Chizuru normally-”

“Nope.” Tatsuki shook her head. “If our entry point is the casino, we’re gonna need someone who can actually _play…_ ”

Orihime sighed and crossed her arms. “ _Fine._ But you do realise that if the staff figure out I can count cards I’ll be thrown out and the whole operation will be _ruined_ , right Tatsuki?”

“I’m not saying you gotta put the place outta business just- make sure you don’t lose _all_ our savings, ‘aight?”

Orihime huffed again and resigned herself to it. Her uncannily good memory was not something she had asked for- she thought personally that being able to count cards completely ruined the point of the games, but it wasn’t like she could _help_ it.

And it wasn’t as if she didn’t enjoy it. A _little._

 

Monday, 15th of September 1928, 7:30 AM. The City Media Offices

 

Izuru Kira held the briefcase tightly under his arm. He had the perfect cover story prepared just in case anyone _did_ come asking. (“What, this? Oh, just a new typewriter for the office, haha!”) He was far too jumpy however, and flinched away sharply anytime a passerby came within a foot of him. All their eyes seemed to be on him, watching his every step. _Oh god oh god oh god... They know… they can all tell!_

His fingers drummed restlessly on the side of the case, and he counted down the blocks as he passed them. _20th… 22nd… 24th… finally! 26th!_ He practically fell through the gate at the bottom of the staircase and hauled himself up the stairs by the railings. 

When he finally reached the top, his hand was shaking so badly that it took him more than a couple tries to even get his key in the right way up. Turning the lock as quietly as he could, he stepped inside, eased the door shut behind him and made a dash for the right-hand door.

_Phew. Made it._ “Morning.” He called out to the room.

Isane looked up from her desk, already hard at work, “Hey Izuru! Whatcha got there?” She asked pointing at the briefcase.

Izuru grinned, and set it down in front of her. He popped the locks and opened it, revealing its true contents.

Isane gave a low whistle. “That is… a _lot_ of alcohol.”

***

Renji gave a gasp of surprise. He pulled the headset from his recording device and plugged in a speaker instead.

“Hey hey… check this out.” He hissed, beckoning urgently for his coworkers to come over. Keeping the volume low, so as to not disturb the live broadcast in the next room, they listened:

_“Yeah… Katsuo gave it to me last night. I figured we could all use a little celebration.”_

_“Really? That was nice of him! Did ‘e say what fer?”_

_“Jus’ a ‘Thank you’ fer all our hard work.”_

_“Boy… This is some proper nice stuff. I haven’t had Bourbon in years.”_

Renji disconnected the speakers and whispered excitedly. “Hear _that_? They’ve got alcohol. _On site._ We’ve wanted an excuse to have someone snoop round their office for long enough and now we have _audio_ evidence. We can _not_ let this opportunity go to waste!”

Most of the group seemed to share in his excitement, but Toshiro was not interested. 

“Speaking ‘a _waste_ , there _was_ work you were meant to be doing this morning ‘stead ‘a spying on the newspaper lot, wasn’t there?” He inspected the recording device more closely. The mass of wires that sprouted from its back disappeared into a haphazardly made hole in the wall. “When the _hell_ did you even set this thing up? It’s a waste of company time and resources- actually never mind _when_ \- exactly _how_ -” His eyes widened, “Oh god, please tell me you didn’t _break into their off-_ ”

“Oh lighten _up_ , Toshiro!” Rangiku pouted, “Renji’s right! This is a golden opportunity for us! I mean, it isn’t every day Izuru brings alcohol into work!”

At that exact moment, the door to the recording booth slammed open and Shuuhei stumbled out, tripping over his feet in an effort to reach Renji’s desk as quickly as possible. “I heard ‘Izuru’ and ‘alcohol’.”

Renji stared, dumbfounded, between him and the thick headphones that lay on the abandoned booth’s desk. “… _How_?!”

Shuuhei dismissed it. “Selective hearing. More importantly: what, why and _when_?”

Rangiku gave a sly grin. “Liquor. From the Shihoin. _Right. Now._ ”

A similar grin grew on his own face, “ _Interesting…_ ”

“SHUUHEI! GET. BACK. ON. AIR. THIS. INSTANT!” Toshiro looked like he was about to have a stroke, but Shuuhei waved him off. 

“I left a buncha records playing. They’ll last for at least the next half hour.”

“So uh, what exactly _are_ we gonna do ‘bout it?” asked Omaeda, looking between his coworkers. An uncomfortable silence settled. They didn’t know. They never thought they’d get this far.

“In any case, I don’ want no part in it.” Toshiro put his hands up and walked back over to his desk. “You guys can muck around as much as ya like- but don’ blame me if the Newspaper has a better week than we do because _their workers aren’t sitting around spyin’ on people_."

***

“Uh, Mr. Kira? I think something’s up with the radio station.” Chojiro called out, confused. He pulled his headphones off so they rested around his neck.

Izuru furrowed his brow and went over to his desk. “Why? What’s up?”

“Well…” Chojiro swallowed, “Mr. Hisagi was just in the middle of the half-hourly news bulletin, when he uh- stopped.”

“… Stopped? Whaddya mean?”

“I uh, I don’t know how else to put it. One moment he was speaking about the latest in that series of attacks in Down Town and the next he- well there was a pause and… then a Louis Armstrong record started playing.”

Izuru narrowed his eyes, and pulled up a chair opposite him. “And that’s what’s still playin’?”

Chojiro brought the right headphone up to his ear, and nodded. “Oh wait, it’s just ending- huh. Now it’s Ben Belvin.”

“… That _is_ weird. Shuuhei doesn’t even _like_ Ben Bel- I mean, it’s weird that he’d just stop in the middle of a live broadcast like that.” He drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. “Something’s up. I can _feel_ it.” Then he turned to the rest of the room. “You guy’s hearin’ this?”

Soifon had put her pen down, and was resting her chin on her knuckles, deep in thought. “You don’ reckon… this has somethin’ to do with _us_ do ya?”

Chojiro squinted at her, “How do you suppose it could?”

“Well, sommin’ so important that it made ‘em stop in the middle of a broadcast is _likely_ gonna be to do with the Shihoins in one way or another. And the closest Shihoin entity to them is us. And one of us just brought sommin’ _pretty_ illegal into work…” She added, looking pointedly at Izuru, who was turning pale.

“Ya- ya don’ think they… _know_? But how?” A switch flicked in his head. “Bugs.”

He scrambled to get out of his chair. “Quickly, search _every_ corner of the office. They’ve got sommin’ in here, and we’re gonna find it.”

They all got up on their chairs, frantically running their hands along the walls, searching for a bump or crack where a microphone could have been hidden.

They were on the point of giving up hope, when Momo gasped suddenly: “Hold on! I think I got something!” In the far left corner of the room, among the wires and cables for their electricity, there was a small black microphone half buried into the wall. Soifon walked over and yanked it out of the wall. “Sons of _bitches_.” She murmured into it, before crushing it in her fist.

***

“Uh guys? Problem.” Renji said, panic rising in his voice. “I was gonna reconnect to the bug but- it’s just… static.”

Rangiku slammed her fist into the desk, nearly causing her mug of coffee to spill over, “Dammit. They found us.”

Shuuhei’s jaw twitched. “Guess there’s no choice then.” 

The room was perfectly still for just a moment longer. 

Then a bomb seemed to go off, and they all raced for the door. Shuuhei was first through into the newspaper side, and yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at Izuru. “ _You_! You brought _alcohol_ into work!”

Izuru could do nothing but return the gesture: “ _You_! You _bugged our office_!”

“Ok so first of all, no, I did not _personally_ bug your office. That was Renji. And secondly-”

“’Aight everyone _shut up_!” Toshiro practically screamed from the doorway. “ _Would. You. Please. Settle. Your. Differences. QUIETLY._ ” He slammed his office door and went back to his desk to fume.

Izuru spoke quickly, determined not to let Shuuhei get another word in. “You know what? Your boss has a point. We _should_ settle our differences quietly. So let’s all be adults about this, ‘aight? No more _spying_ on each other, that sound ok?” He gave an infuriatingly patronizing smile, and it took everything Shuuhei had to not throttle him where he stood.

“ _Yes_.” He grumbled.

“Good. Now,” He paused to walk over to the briefcase, “Seeing as I have just come into a pretty large supply of– as you so kindly pointed out, Shuuhei- illegal alcohol into work, I think the best way to resolve our differences is with a few rounds ‘a shots.” Then his gaze hardened. “ _Competitive_ shots.”

_Oh crap. He knows I don’t drink._ Shuuhei thought, trying not to let the mild panic show on his face.

“Competitive shots? Oh man, you guys have _no idea_ what you’re in for…” Rangiku said, an almost predatory grin on her face.

“Wait- shouldn’t we maybe consider other options-” Momo tried to say before:

“Done.” Shuuhei stuck out his hand for Izuru to shake. The other man took it.

“Then it’s settled. How does after work today sound?”

Renji tried to interject, “Oh wait, today? I dunno I mean it’s only Mon-”

“Sounds good.” Shuuhei cut him off, still having not released Izuru’s hand.

“Yeah, it does.” Izuru replied, also not letting go.

“Excellent.”

“Good.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

The exchange seemed to have no end, and the radio crew took this as their cue to leave.

“ _They’re your problem now…_ ” Rangiku whispered to Soifon as they left, leaving her seething.

 

8:00 AM, Espada Italian.

 

The restaurant was situated just outside of the entertainment district. It was an old, early 19th century building, which looked ready to fall apart any second. Paint was coming off its front in long ribbons, and one of the glass doors had been smashed. There were ferns arranged in neat rows out front, and ivy hanging over the grand sign above the double doors- ESPADA ITALIAN, it read, in cursive letters painted in the colours of the Italian flag.

Ichigo had attempted to clean up his suit a little, after the incident that had occurred the previous week, but to little avail. He hoped they’d give him a new uniform inside. Swallowing, he pushed open the door, and a bell overhead was rung as he did. Inside, there were various small tables littered around, with larger booths lining the outside. Central to the room was something that had clearly once been a bar, but had been hastily converted into a stage of some sort. There were corridors set into the wall either side of it, and Ichigo couldn’t see exactly where they led to. Kaien poked his head out from behind the stage, and grinned when he saw him.

“Hey! Glad you could make it!” He said, walking over to him. “C’mon back and I’ll get you to meet the team!”

Ichigo smiled back, “Great to be here!” He still felt conflicted about what his father had told him. About Kaien, about the twins… To say that the weekend had been a little awkward between him and his family was an understatement. Every action, every word felt fake, and soulless. Their previously engaging debates over what they could sometimes called dinner were now non-existent. However, Ichigo had forced himself to forget all this. He didn’t want to risk his relationship with any other member of his family, not right now. Now, what was important was this job. And being able to talk to Kaien again.

Another man emerged from where Kaien had been. He had weird, spiky blue hair, and wore a snarl that seemed almost cat-like.

“Huh? ‘The hell is that, Aaroneiro?”

Ichigo blinked. _Aaroneiro_?

To his surprise, Kaien answered immediately, “Ah, Grimmjow- this is my cousin, Kon. I was sure I told ya he’d be startin’ today…”

Ichigo nearly made some indignant noise, before Kaien gave him a sharp poke in the side, telling him to shut it. _Kon?!_

Grimmjow raised his eyebrows. “Oh riiiiight… I think I remember you sayin’ sommin’ like that…” Then he addressed Ichigo, “’Aight, kid. Let’s get ya a new uniform. Don’ think ya servin’ tables with _that_ thing on.”

Ichigo scowled, looking ready to retaliate, but Kaien put a hand on his chest to stop him, and rolled his eyes, “Oh give it a _rest_ , Grimmjow.” He started back over to the corridor behind the bar, and beckoned for Ichigo to follow him.

“ _Play along._ ” He whispered in Ichigo’s ear. Ichigo nodded in response. 

This particular corridor led back to two doors, one labeled ‘Kitchen’ and the other ‘Staff Lockers’. They followed Grimmjow into the locker room. The lockers were ancient, and creaking on their hinges. All those with padlocks seemed to have rusted shut. He reached into a locker on the far side of the room, and chucked a white shirt, red tie, and black suit pants at Ichigo- identical to the ones he himself was wearing. “Here, put these on, quick as ya can. Be ready out front by quarter past fer the boss’ meetin’. We open at eleven but there’s a helluva lot ta do ‘before that.” He glanced at Kaien, “He’s yer cousin. I’ll leave ya to it, Aaron.” He sauntered out of the room, not so subtly bumping shoulders with Ichigo as he left.

Ichigo waited for the door to fully close, before he finally exploded.

“What the _hell,_ Kaien?! Why’s he callin’ ya Aaron- uh, Aarino- Aar- urhg, _whatever_. And _Kon?! What’s that all about?!_ ”

Kaien put a firm hand on Ichigo’s shoulder. “Calm down. I only use a fake name ‘cos it makes it easier to move freely in this city. And I did the same with _you_ , for the same reason.” Ichigo looked puzzled, and Kaien sighed, exasperated, “Listen, kid, you may not care how many fights you get into, but word gets out. Get in too many and you’ll get yerself labelled as a trouble-maker. An _unemployable_ trouble-maker.”

Ichigo huffed, and shook Kaien’s hand off. “’Aight. I get it. Sorry, ‘Aaron’.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, ‘Kon’. Now get that uniform on, and meet out front in five minutes, got it? Leave yer clothes in the locker Grimmjow took the uniform from. That’s yers now. See ya!”

Ichigo stared down at the uniform in his arms, and clenched his fists. He was _determined_ to not let this one slip through his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy new chapter!!!  
> Leave some kudos or a comment if you enjoyed it~

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I know I said I wouldn't start writing this until later in the summer, but hey the AU was too tempting and well- here it is. Just a few things to note: 
> 
> I've used Japanese names for my OCs in here purely because it fits better with the already-Japanese names of all the characters, this story IS set in the USA. 
> 
> I've been ambiguous about exactly where because to be perfectly honest, I haven't decided yet myself if it's gonna be a real or fictional city.
> 
> I don't know how much of the slang I've used is still around today, because quite simply: I am not American. So- I'm going to put short list of some of the weirder ones here just in case there was any confusion as to what I meant:
> 
> Ossified- Drunk  
> Breezers- New cars  
> Irons- Motorbikes  
> Beat my gums- Idle chatter  
> Don't take any wooden nickels- Don't do anything stupid  
> Hoods- Thugs  
> Bimbos- Tough guys
> 
> Also another quick note on my choice of names for my OCs:
> 
> 'Katsuo' meaning 'Victorious child' (seemed appropriate for a powerful man, who is pretty clearly victorious over the large portion of his enemies.  
> 'Hachirou' meaning 'Eighth son' (implying he isn't really a very important or powerful guy- which he isn't.)  
> 'Tomio' meaning 'Treasured Man' (just sounded cute + Kaien and Miyako would be really doting parents lmao)
> 
> And Rukia and Uryuu are really good friends because reasons ok?  
> We don't get to see nearly enough of their interactions in the main series.
> 
> (P.s. you have no idea how hard it was to write the first chapter without including any Kisuke trust me)  
> Thanks for reading anyhow! Leave a comment or kudos if you feel like it! (oh, and yeah I don't own bleach)
> 
> (P.p.s quick shoutout to my beta reader and long suffering friend Anna (@fanvergent6246 on tumblr) for spotting all the inconsistencies and crappy typos I didn't!)


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